-/T/ZO 


GIFT  or 

Professor   CD,   Brenner 


HOURS 


WITH 


GERMAN    CLASSICS 

FROM  THE  NIBELUNGENLIED    TO 
HEINRICH  HEINE 

BY 

FREDERIC    HENRY   HEDGE 

JFonner  ilrofessor  of  (Bxcrman  in  ]^arijarti  2Eiubcrsttg 

AUTHOR     OF     "martin     LUTHER     AND     OTHER     ESSAYS" 
"THE    PROSE    WRITERS    OF    GERMANY."    ETC. 


NEW   EDITION 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,   BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1902 


Copyright,  1886, 
By  Frederic  Henry  Hedge. 


(Knfbersfti!  pre«»: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


TO 

WILLIAM     HENRY     FURNESS, 

THE    SUCCESSFUL    TRANSLATOR    OF 

GERMAN   VERSE, 

THIS    BOOK   IS    INSCRIBED, 

WITH  THE  AUTHOR'S  LOVE. 


919031 


EXPLANATORY    NOTE. 


The  following  essays  contain  the  substance  of  lec- 
tures delivered  by  the  author  in  his  official  capacity  as 
Professor  of  German  Literature.  Far  from  assuming 
to  be  a  complete  history  of  that  literature,  they  aim  to 
exhibit  some  of  its  characteristic  phases  as  exemplified 
by  writers  who  fairly  represent  the  national  genius. 

Want  of  space  within  the  limits  of  the  one  volume  to 
which  it  was  judged  expedient  to  restrict  this  presenta- 
tion, necessitated  the  exclusion  of  many  writers  of  note 
in  prose  and  in  verse,  —  among  others  the  great  philoso- 
phers, Kant  and  his  followers,  who,  though  eminently 
classic,  form  a  class  by  themselves. 

These  the  author  has  presented  in  former  publica- 
tions. See  "  The  Prose  Writers  of  Germany,"  and 
"Atheism  in  Philosophy,  and  other  Essays." 

F.  H.  H. 

Cambridge,  May  17,  1886. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAOE 

I.    Introductory     . 1 

II.    Eldest  Monuments 11 

III.  The  Nibelungenlied 25 

IV.  Comparison  of  the  Nibelungenlied  with  the 

Iliad 48 

V.    GuDRUN  AND  Other  Medi^val  Poems     ...  56 

VI.    Martin  Luther 65 

VII.    Hans  Sachs  and  Ulrich  von  Hutten     ...  83 

VIII.    Seventeenth  and  Eighteenth  Centuries  .     .  100 

IX.    Klopstock 121 

X.    Lessing 143 

XI.    Mendelssohn 171 

XII.    The  Universal  German  Library.  —  Friedrich 

Nicolai 190 

XIII.  WiELAND 207 

XIV.  Herder 228 

XV.    Goethe 254 

XVI.    Schiller 344 

XVII.    Jean  Paul 396 

XVIII.    The  Romantic  School 429 

XIX.    Hoffmann 474 

XX.    Heinrich  Heine 502 

INDEX 529 


HOURS   WITH   GERMAN   CLASSICS, 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

'^T^HE  literature  of  modern  Germany  is  a  recent 
J-  growth  compared  with  the  literatures  of  England, 
Italy,  France,  and  Spain.  I  say  modern  Germany,  not 
forgetting  that  mediasval  Germany  led  contemporary 
nations  in  epic  and  lyric  song. 

The  English  were  slow  to  recognize  the  merits  of 
German  writers  when  at  last  it  was  understood  that 
Germany  had  writers  in  propria  sermone  and  a  literature 
of  her  own. 

The  Germans  were  confounded  with  the  people  of  Hol- 
land. The  name  "  Dutch  "  was  applied  indiscriminately 
to  the  countrymen  of  Hermann,  of  the  Minnesingers,  of 
Luther,  of  Guttenberg,  and  to  dwellers  on  the  Waal  and 
the  Scheldt.  The  elder  Disraeli,  in  his  "  Curiosities  of 
Literature,"  has  an  essay  entitled  "  Literary  Dutch," 
in  which  he  speaks  of  Germans  and  Hollanders  as  one 
and  the  same  people,  using  the  same  language :  he  is 
not  aware  of  any  distinction  between  them.  Vondel, 
a  Dutchman  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  Schubart,  a 
German  of  the  eighteenth,  are  adduced  as  illustrations 
of  the  same  literature.  He  writes  with  a  show  of  candor, 
but  concludes  that  on  the  whole  the  question  of  Father 

1 


2  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

BouliQiirs,  "  Whether  a  German  can  have  wit/'  had  not 
been  answered.  And  this  was  subsequent  to  the  death 
of  Lcfeaiiij^.  It  was  after  Wieland  and  Klopstock  and 
Herder  had  nearly  finished  their  labors ;  after  Goethe 
and  Schiller  had  published  things  which  in  their  own 
way  have  not  been  excelled.  What  German  critic  has 
ever  betrayed  such  Cimmerian  ignorance  on  any  subject 
of  which  he  undertook  to  discourse  ? 

A  writer  in  the  ''  Edinburgh  Review "  for  October, 
1825,  in  a  critical  notice  of  Carlyle's  translation  of 
"  Wilhelm  Meister,"  after  characterizing  that  work  — 
which  he  professes  to  know  only  by  translation  —  as 
"  eminently  absurd,  puerile,  incongruous,  vulgar,  af- 
fected, .  .  .  from  beginning  to  end  one  flagrant  offence 
against  every  principle  of  taste  and  every  just  rule  of 
composition,"  passes  by  an  easy  induction  from  the 
particular  to  the  general,  and  pronounces  the  same  con- 
demnation on  the  entire  literature  of  Germany.  It  is 
all  vulgar;  and  the  reason  assigned  is  that  German 
writers  are  poor,  and  therefore  debarred  the  privilege  of 
good  society,  —  that  is,  of  the  society  of  the  rich.  The 
fact  being  that  a  larger  proportion  of  German  writers 
than  of  English  have  been  the  friends  of  princes,  and 
that  literary  genius  in  Germany  has  been  better  sus- 
tained on  the  whole  than  in  England,  where,  if  poverty 
makes  authors  vulgar,  Burns  should  have  been  the  most 
vulgar  of  poets ;  where  Samuel  Johnson  was  in  the 
habit  of  subscribing  himself  impransus;  where  Spenser 
could  testify  from  his  own  experience,  — 

"  What  hell  it  is  in  suing  long  to  bide." 

Three  years  had  not  elapsed  after  this  tirade  when 
Thomas  Carlyle  published  in  the  same  journal  his  tri- 


INTRODUCTORY,  3 

umphant  vindication  of  German  literature,  which  marks 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  English  opinion  on  that  sub- 
ject. The  years  succeeding  have  wrought  a  mighty 
change,  not  in  the  value  of  the  literature  whose  best 
productions  antedate  that  essay,  but  in  the  knowledge 
and  appreciation  of  it  by  English  and  American  schol- 
ars. A  certain  strangeness,  which  at  first  is  always 
repulsive,  had  to  be  encountered  and  overcome  before 
English  intelligence  could  open  itself  freely  to  the  com- 
munications of  the  German  mind. 

Every  nation  that  can  properly  be  said  to  have  a  lit- 
erature of  its  own  imparts  to  that  literature  something 
of  its  own  character, —  certain  qualities  due  to  language, 
race,  historic  development,  distinguishing  it  from  other 
literatures,  and  making  it,  more  than  any  industrial 
activities,  a  true  exponent  of  the  national  mind.  In 
German  literature,  accordingly,  we  shall  expect  to  find, 
and  do  find,  along  with  much  that  is  common  to  all 
modern.  Western,  Christian  nations,  some  qualities  pe- 
culiar to  itself. 

I  name  as  the  first  of  these  qualities  a  predominant 
idealism,  a  tendency  to  see  all  things  in  the  light  of 
ideas,  to  seek  in  all  things  the  interior  reason  of  their 
being.  "  When  Candide,"  says  Heine,  "  came  to  Eldo- 
rado, he  saw  some  boys  in  the  street  playing  with  great 
nuggets  of  gold  instead  of  stones.  This  extravagance 
led  him  to  believe  that  these  boys  were  young  princes ; 
and  he  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  he  learned  that 
in  Eldorado  nuggets  of  gold  were  as  plentiful  as  pebbles 
are  with  us,  so  that  school-boys  can  play  with  them. 
Something  similar  happened  to  a  friend  of  mine,  a  for- 
eigner, when  he  first  began  to  read  German  books.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  wealth  of  thought  he  found  in  them ; 


4  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

but  he  soon  discovered  that  ideas  in  Germany  are  as 
plentiful  as  nuggets  of  gold  in  Eldorado,  and  that  the 
authors  whom  he  had  supposed  to  be  the  intellectual 
princes  of  the  nation  were  mere  ordinary  school-boys." 

The  familiar  witticism  which  represents  the  German 
naturalist  as  undertaking  to  evolve  the  image  of  the 
camel  from  his  interior  consciousness,  points  to  this 
peculiarity  of  the  national  mind,  —  that  it  works,  so  to 
speak,  from  within  outward.  Imagination  predomi- 
nates. We  are  indebted  to  this  peculiarity  for  that  rich 
treasury  of  fairy  myths  and  tales  of  the  supernatural 
which  have  found  such  ready  welcome  in  other  lands. 
Motte-Fouqu^'s  "  Undine,"  his  "  Bottle-Imp,"  Cha- 
misso's  "  Peter  Schlemihl,"  Tieck's  "  Elves,"  and  above 
all  Goethe's  "  Marchen,"  are  flowers  of  fiction  indigenous 
to  German  soil. 

Another  distinguishing  feature  of  German  literature  is 
philosophic  criticism,  —  a  province  of  intellectual  activ- 
ity in  which  the  writers  of  that  country  have  taken  the 
lead,  and  hold  by  universal  consent  the  foremost  place. 
Indeed,  the  higher  criticism,  as  distinguished  not  only 
from  verbal  corrections  and  emendation  of  texts,  but 
even  from  such  judgments  of  literary  merit  as  those  of 
the  English  critics  of  the  last  century,  —  criticism  that 
discerns  and  interprets  the  innermost  principle  of  a 
work  of  art,  that  divines  the  spirit  and  reconstructs  the 
life  of  the  past, — may  be  said  to  be  an  original  growth  of 
the  German  mind.  And  what  a  change  it  has  wrought 
in  the  intellectual  life  of  our  time !  What  a  dawn  it  has 
shed  on  theology,  history,  literature,  art !  How  differently 
the  great  masterpieces  of  ancient  and  modern  time  shine 
forth  !  How  different  the  lands  and  the  ages  show  in  its 
light!     German  criticism  has  unfolded  the  merit  and 


INTRODUCTORY.  5 

the  meaning  of  Hellenic  art;  it  has  taught  us  to  dis- 
tinguish between  the  mythic  and  the  actual  in  historic 
records,  Biblical  and  profane.  It  has  enucleated  the 
kernel  from  the  hull,  has  elicited  from  ancient  fable 
the  secrets  intrusted  to  its  keeping,  and  given  us  in 
Japhetic  equivalents  and  scientific  form  the  eternal 
truths  of  religion  divested  of  their  Semitic  envelopment. 
In  this  way  Lessing,  Herder,  the  Schlegels,  Niebuhr, 
Bunsen,  and  a  host  of  others  have  become  the  mediators 
of  universal  culture,  the  priests  of  a  common  humanity, 
which  in  various  phases  and  costumes  asserts  its  identity 
in  every  land  and  age. 

Cosmopolitan  breadth  of  view,  generous  appreciation 
of  foreign  merit,  I  must  also  name  as  a  special  grace  of 
the  German  mind.  Conscientiously  investigating  and 
thoroughly  acquainting  itself  with  the  literatures  of  other 
nations,  it  renders  full  justice  to  all.  Nowhere  have  the 
great  minds  of  England,  Italy,  France,  and  Spain  re- 
ceived such  thorough  appreciation.  And  what  other  na- 
tion boasting  great  wits  of  its  own,  among  them  some  of 
the  greatest,  has  so  exalted  as  have  the  Germans  a  for- 
eign genius,  and  one  of  a  contemporary  people  ?  What 
other  nation  has  enthroned  in  its  Yalhalla,  supreme  over 
all,  a  stranger  god  ?  In  Shakspeare  the  Germans  have 
recognized  —  they  first  among  the  nations,  earlier  even 
than  his  own  countrymen  —  the  chief  of  poets.  "  Every 
literature  of  the  world,"  says  Carlyle,  "  has  been  culti- 
vated by  them ;  and  to  every  literature  they  have  studied 
to  give  due  honor."  While  Homer  and  Shakspeare 
"  occupy  the  loftiest  station  in  their  poetical  Olympus, 
there  is  space  in  it  for  all  true  singers  out  of  every  age 
and  clime.  .  .  .  Ferdusi  and  the  primeval  mythologists  of 
Hindustan  live  in  brotherly  union  with  the  Troubadours 


6  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

and  ancient  story-tellers  of  the  West.  The  wayward, 
mystic  gloom  of  Calderon,  the  lurid  fire  of  Dante,  the 
auroral  light  of  Tasso,  the  clear  icy  glitter  of  Racine,  all 
are  acknowledged  and  reverenced.  .  .  .  The  Germans 
study  foreign  nations  in  a  spirit  which  deserves  to  be 
imitated.  ...  It  is  their  honest  endeavor  to  understand 
each  with  its  own  peculiarities,  and  participate  in  what- 
ever worth  or  beauty  it  has  brought  into  being.  Of  all 
literatures  accordingly,  the  German  has  the  best  as  well 
as  the  most  numerous  translations." 

This  was  written  more  than  fifty  years  ago.  Other 
nations  since  then,  and  notably  the  English,  have  made 
great  strides  in  the  same  direction ;  but  the  leadership 
here  must  be  accorded  to  the  Germans. 

The  principal,  or  certainly  a  marked,  defect  in  Ger- 
man literature  is  its  want  of  rhetorical  force,  —  of  free, 
impressive  communication  in  the  way  of  direct  ad- 
dress, whether  primarily  through  the  lips  or  through 
the  pen. 

I  speak  of  prose  composition.  Germany  has  produced 
no  orators,  no  speeches  of  the  pulpit  or  the  forum,  that 
have  taken  strong  hold  of  the  popular  mind,  —  no  names 
in  this  line  that  can  be  compared  with  those  of  English 
and  French  renown. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  the  absence  of  popular  as- 
semblies, of  an  open  court,  and  until  lately  of  a  national 
parliament,  is  the  reason  of  this  deficiency.  But  Ger- 
many has  had  a  pulpit :  why  not  a  Savonarola,  a  Bossuet, 
a  Masillon,  a  Taylor,  a  Hall  ?  Able  preachers  she  has 
had,  but  —  with  the  exception  of  Luther,  whose  rugged 
but  clear,  direct,  and  uninvolved  sentences  so  strongly 
contrast  the  utterances  of  his  later  countrymen  —  no 
great  pulpit  orator.    The  ability  of  her  preachers  has  con- 


INTRODUCTORY.  7 

sisted  rather  in  profundity  of  thought  or  piety  of  senti- 
ment than  in  forcible  speech. 

Not  German  institutions,  but  the  character  of  the  Ger- 
man language,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  chargeable  with  the 
want  of  oratorical  power.  If  it  be  urged  on  the  contrary 
that  great  oratorical  gifts  would  have  moulded  the  lan- 
guage to  suit  the  demands  of  effective  popular  address, 
I  shall  not  dispute  the  point :  I  only  maintain  that  tak- 
ing the  language  as  it  is,  I  find  it  ill  suited  to  oratorical 
effect.  For  many  purposes  it  is  the  best  of  modern  dia- 
lects. Copious  and  flexible  beyond  any  of  the  Latin 
family ;  indefinitely  capable  of  compounds  by  simple  ag- 
glutination ;  expressive  of  nice  shades  of  meaning  and 
philosophical  distinctions  which  have  no  exponent  in 
English,  —  it  forms  an  apt  instrument  of  transcendental 
speculation.  By  the  facility  with  which  it  yields  itself 
to  every  variety  of  metrical  form,  it  is  equally  adapted 
to  poetic  use.  The  charm  of  the  female  rhyme,  so  limited 
and  often  so  dearly  purchased  in  English,  impossible  in 
French,  is  the  natural  method  of  German  verse.  But  in 
oratory,  in  direct  address,  where  short  sentences,  simple 
construction,  and  sharp  terminal  accent  are  required  to 
produce  the  desired  effect,  the  German  fails  by  reason  of 
its  polysyllaljic  character,  its  involved  periods,  its  clumsy 
syntax.  Here  the  English,  with  its  prevalence  of  mono- 
syllables, has  an  immense  advantage.  The  German  sep- 
arates the  parts  of  the  verb,  —  the  auxiliary  from  the 
participle ;  and  where  a  conjunction  or  relative  pronoun 
comes  in,  it  separates  the  nominative  from  the  verb 
agreeing  with  it,  throwing  the  latter  to  the  end  of  the 
sentence,  with  more  or  less  of  secondary  matter  between. 
This  often  gives  to  the  most  emphatic  word  in  the  sen- 
tence a  position  unfavorable  to  the  best  effect.     Take  the 


8  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

following  sentence  from  Goethe's  "  Campaign  in  France." 
In  English  idiom  it  would  read  as  follows  :  "-  During  this 
time  I  often  saw  Marshal  Broglie,  and  have  since  been 
glad  to  find  the  man  whose  figure  had  made  so  good  and 
lasting  an  impression  honorably  mentioned  in  history." 
Literally  rendered  according  to  the  order  of  the  words  in 
the  original,  it  reads  thus  :  "  During  this  time  have  I  the 
Marshal  Broglie  often  seen,  and  it  has  me  also  afterward 
rejoiced  the  man  whose  figure  a  so  good  and  lasting  im- 
pression made  had  in  history  honorably  mentioned  to 
find."  "  Surely,"  says  a  writer  in  the  Contemporary 
Review,  *'  no  people  with  a  sense  of  the  art  of  words 
would  have  adopted  a  mode  of  writing  where  sentences, 
a  page  in  length,  are  ended  by  the  verb." 

In  poetry  also,  of  the  sort  in  which  the  aim  is  fervid 
utterance,  English  verse  by  its  abundance  of  mono- 
syllables has  capabilities  which  the  German  wants.  In 
Byron's  "  Giaour  "  occur  these  lines  :  — 

"  The  cold  in  clime  are  cold  in  blood, 

Their  love  can  scarce  deserve  the  name ; 
But  mine  was  like  the  lava  flood 

That  boils  in  Etna's  breast  of  flame. 
'T  is  true,  I  could  not  whine  or  sigh,  — 

I  knew  but  to  obtain  or  die. 
I  die :  but  first  I  have  possessed ; 

And  come  what  may,  I  have  been  blest." 

Here,  in  eight  consecutive  lines,  there  are  but  five 
words  which  are  not  monosyllables,  and  three  of  the  five 
have  the  accent  on  the  last  syllable.  It  would  be  im- 
possible to  render  these  lines  into  German  with  the  same 
effect  of  sound  which  they  have  in  English.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  would  be  impossible  to  render  smoothly 
into  English  verse,  preserving  the  metre  and  rhyme  of 
the  original,  some  of  the  finest  German  lyrics. 


INTRODUCTORY.  9 

The  vocal  properties  and  capabilities  of  the  language 
have  been  underrated,  I  think,  not  only  by  nations  whose 
speech  is  of  Latin  origin,  but  also  by  the  English,  whose 
language  is  compounded  in  nearly  equal  parts  of  Latin 
and  German  elements.  Coleridge  undertook  to  illustrate 
the  plionetic  inferiority  of  the  German  to  the  English  by 
comparing  the  effect  on  the  ear  of  two  words,  an  English 
and  a  German,  having  the  same  signification,  —  death;  in 
German,  Tod.  This  word,  he. argues,  has  a  disagreeable 
sound  on  account  of  the  loathsome  animal  (toad)  which 
it  suggests.  A  curious  hibernicism  !  Even  if  the  word 
in  question,  t-o-d^  were  pronounced  toad^  as  Coleridge 
supposes,  it  would  not  suggest  a  toad  to  those  who  use 
it,  since  their  word  for  toad  is  quite  different.  But  in 
fact  the  word  is  not  pronounced  toad^  but  toadt. 

Unquestionably  the  German  is  inferior  to  the  English, 
as  the  English  is  to  the  Italian,  in  sonorousness.  Who- 
ever has  heard  at  a  concert  songs  in  the  Italian  and  in 
the  German,  sung  by  the  same  singer,  must  have  felt 
painfully  the  musical  inferiority  of  the  latter.  The  em- 
peror Julian  declared  that  the  singing  of  their  popular 
songs  by  the  Germans  of  the  Rhine  sounded  like  the 
crowing  and  cawing  of  birds  of  prey.  'T  is  not  a  so- 
norous language  —  the  excess  of  consonants  forbids  ;  but 
fine  vocal  effects  are  possible  in  it  through  the  ease  with 
which  it  forms  compounds :  e.  g.  Wlndesungestum.  In 
Korner's  "  Prayer  before  Battle  "  we  have  the  lines, — 

"  Wie  im  herbstlichen  Rauschen  der  Blatter 
So  irn  Schlachtendonnerwetter." 

If  not  orotund  like  languages  of  the  Latin  family,  it 
has  softer  combinations  of  sound  than  any  language  with 
which  I  am  acquainted.  Take  this  from  Goethe's  poem, 
"  Der  gefangene  Graf,"  — 


10  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"  Doch  wird  ein  liebes  Liebchen  auch 
Der  Lilie  Zierde  loben." 

Or  this  from  Schiller's  "  Pilger,"  — 

"  Ach  kein  Steg  will  dahin  fiihren, 
Ach  der  Himmel  iiber  mir 
Will  die  Erde  nie  beriihren, 
Und  das  doit  ist  iiiemals  hier." 

Native  historians  of  German  literature  have  adopted 
certain  classifications  which,  so  far  as  the  purpose  of 
these  essays  is  concerned,  are  unimportant,  and  will  not 
be  noticed  as  characterizing  the  individual  authors  of 
whom  I  am  to  speak.  The  great  divisions  of  ancient, 
mediaeval,  or  pre-Lutheran,  modern  and  more  modern  ; 
the  period  of  full  maturity,  including  Goethe  and  Schiller 
and  their  successors,  —  these  divisions  are  obvious,  and 
justify  themselves  to  the  apprehension  of  other  nations 
as  well  as  to  native  Germans.  But  the  subdivisions  into 
what  are  called  "  schools,"  —  the  Old  Silesian,  and  the 
New  Silesian,  the  Swiss,  the  Saxon,  the  Prussian  Poets' 
Union,  the  Leipziger  Poets'  Union,  the  Gottingen  Circle, 
the  Romantic  School,  and  the  Austrian  School,  —  these, 
with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  Romantic  School, 
have  little  or  no  significance  for  the  foreigner.  They 
express  local  and  accidental  association  rather  than  in- 
tellectual tendency  or  literary  likeness.  I  shall  pay  no 
regard  to  these,  but  present  in  chronological  or  nearly 
chronological  order,  out  of  the  mass  of  German  writers 
and  writings,  such  as  have  seemed  to  me  for  one  or  an- 
other reason  worthy  of  special  note. 

First,  let  us  glance  at  some  of  the  works  which  have 
come  down  to  us  in  forms  of  speech  now  obsolete. 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS,  \\ 


CHAPTER    II. 

ELDEST    MONUMENTS. 

THE  word  "  Teutonic  "  —  derived  from  "  Teutones," 
the  name  of  a  barbarous  people  who  make  their 
first  appearance  in  history  in  connection  with  the  Ro- 
man General  C.  Marius,  102  B.C.  —  has,  by  a  strange 
mischance,  become  a  synonym  for  "  German."  It  is 
not  certain  that  the  Teutones  were  a  German  tribe. 
Some  authorities  suppose  them  to  have  been  Celts.  And 
yet,  proceeding  on  the  former  supposition,  German  writ- 
ers themselves  at  one  time  adopted  the  fashion  of  spell- 
ing their  national  designation  with  a  t  instead  of  c?,  — 
Teutsch  instead  of  Deutsch.  It  was  a  mistaken  ety- 
mology. "  Deutsch "  is  not  derived  from  ''  Teutones," 
but  from  the  Gothic  word  ''  Thiuda," — a  people.  Hence, 
the  adjective  "  Thiudisc  ;  "  whence,  in  the  old  High-Ger- 
man, "  Diutisc  (th  changing  into  d)',  thence  "  Deutisch" 
contracted  into  "  Deutsch." 

If  certain  ethnologists  are  right  in  their  identification 
of  the  Goths,  who  figure  in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries 
of  our  era,  with  the  Getae,  who  inhabited  the  western 
shore  of  the  Euxine,  we  may  reckon  as  the  earliest 
known  writer  in  German  the  Latin  poet  Ovid,i  who  was 
banished  to  Tomi  on  the  Euxine  in  the  year  8  a.  d.  In 
his  letter  to  Carius  in  the  Fourth  Book  of  the  "  Epistolae 

^  See  Taylor's  "  Survey  of  German  Poetry.'* 


12  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ex  Ponto,"  he  boasts  of  having  written  a  poem  in  the 
Gothic  language  with  Latin  metre,  — 

"  Getico  scrips!  sermone  libellum 
Structaque  sint  nobis  barbara  verba  modis." 

Ovid's  Gothic  verses  have  not  come  down  to  us,  but 
we  have  what  is  infinitely  better,  a  work  which  German 
philologists  unanimously  claim  as  the  oldest  monument 
of  German  literature,  —  Ulfilas's  Gothic  version  of  the 
New  Testament.  Says  Jacob  Grimm,  the  most  diligent 
investigator  of  the  sources  of  German  speech  :  — 

"There  where,  according  to  Thracian  tradition,  Haemus 
and  Rhodope  ^  were  petrified  into  mountains,  was  heard  the 
earliest  German  discourse  preserved  to  us  in  writing.  Had  not 
Ulfilas  felt  in  himself  the  impulse  to  express  in  Gothic  the 
sacred  words  of  the  new  faith,  the  very  foundation  of  the  his- 
tory of  our  language  would  have  been  wanting.  But  a  small 
portion  of  his  imperishable  work  has  come  down  to  us ;  it  is 
impossible  to  estimate  the  injury  sustained  by  the  loss  of  the 
rest.  But  a  happy  discovery  in  our  day  has  enabled  us  to  fill 
out  a  considerable  gap,  and  from  every  line  of  the  text  thus 
preserved  we  derive  fresh  gains.  No  other  living  European 
language  can  boast  a  monument  of  equal  antiquity  and  worth." 

Ulfilas,  or  Wulfilas,  belonged  to  that  portion  of  the 
Gothic  race  known  in  history  as  Visigoths  or  Westgoths. 
The  word  "  Goth  "  is  associated  in  common  speech  with 
all  that  is  rude  and  barbarous.  It  is  to  the  modern 
mind  what  "  Scythian  "  was  to  the  ancient.  Indeed,  a 
portion  of  the  Goths  have  been  supposed  to  be  identical 
with  the  Scythians  inhabiting  European  or  old  Scythia, 
the  "  Moesia  Inferior  "  of  ancient  geography.     We  find 

1  King  and  queen  of  Thrace,  who,  aspiring  to  divine  honors,  were 
turned  to  mountains. 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  13 

mention  made  by  the  ancients  of  a  people  inhabiting 
that  country  who  bear  the  name  of  Getae.  They  are 
known  to  Herodotus,  who  speaks  of  them  as  a  Thracian 
tribe,  but  distinguishes  them  as  a  better  variety  of  that 
nation,  —  "  GprjLKwv  dvBpeiorarot  koI  hucaioTarou^^  He 
speaks  of  "  Terai  adavarl^ovre^,^^  the  Getae  who  deemed 
themselves  immortal,  —  words  of  weight,  says  Grimm, 
"  in  the  mouth  of  haughty  Greeks  who  would  look  upon 
Thracians  as  barbarians."  In  Greek  and  Latin  comedy, 
the  names  G-etas  and  Getae  occur  repeatedly  as  names 
of  slaves.  They  are  supposed  to  be  names  of  nationali- 
ties applied  to  individuals,  —  in  the  same  way  that  the 
term  "  Swiss  "  has  been  used  to  denote  servants  of  that 
nation. 

Geta  has  been  affirmed  to  be  synonymous  with  Goth. 
Grimm  thinks  the  evidence  irresistible  for  their  identity. 
If  his  view  is  correct,  it  would  follow  that  long  antece- 
dent to  the  Christian  era  the  Goths  were  known  to  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  as  a  people  inhabiting  the  countries 
called  Moesia  and  Dacia,  corresponding  in  modern  geog- 
raphy with  the  province  of  Bulgaria.  It  would  seem, 
furthermore,  from  the  typical  use  of  the  name  Getas 
(^Geta)^  in  Greek  and  Latin  comedy,  that  enslaved  Goths 
in  those  ages,  perhaps  on  account  of  their  fidelity  and 
trustworthiness,  were  favorite  servants. 

On  the  other  hand,  history  presents  at  the  opening  of 
the  third  century  of  our  era  an  influx  of  Goths  ^  into 
Central  and  Southern  Europe  from  an  opposite  quarter, 
—  from  the  Scandinavian  peninsula.  A  portion  of  these 
Invaders  make  incursions  into  Thrace,  and  finally  estab- 
lish themselves  in  Dacia,  a  province  ceded  to  them  by 
the  emperor  Aurelian  in  the  year  272.     Whether  these 

1  Called  by  Latin  liistorians  Gothones. 


14  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Gothones  were  the  veritable  Getae  mentioned  above,  — 
moving  southward  and  eastward  again  after  a  tempo- 
rary settlement  in  the  north,  and  returning  to  the  an- 
cient home  of  their  race,  —  or  a  wholly  distinct  people, 
confounded  with  the  Getae  in  consequence  of  the  iden- 
tity of  their  location,  is  a  question  on  which  authorities 
diifer.  Certain  it  is  that  the  Visigoths  are  found  estab- 
lished in  Dacia  and  Moesia  toward  the  close  of  the  third 
century.  The  more  powerful  kingdom  of  the  Ostrogoths 
lay  to  the  north  and  the  east  of  them  on  the  banks  of  the 
Borysthenes,  now  the  Dnieper.  That  the  Goths  were 
Germans,  a  branch  of  the  great  Germanic  stock,  is  univer- 
sally conceded.  Their  language  proves  it ;  it  is  evidently 
one  of  the  cognates  of  modern  German  speech. 

Ulfilas  was  a  Visigoth,  a  native  of  Moesia;  hence  called 
Moeso-Goth.  Philostorgius  claims  for  him  a  Cappado- 
cian  ancestry.  Himself  a  Cappadocian,  the  historian 
perhaps  desired  for  his  people  the  reflected  glory  of  a 
writer  so  eminent  in  the  annals  of  the  Church.  There 
is,  however,  nothing  improbable  in  the  assertion.  The 
Goths,  among  other  predatory  excursions  in  Asia  Minor, 
are  quite  likely  to  have  invaded  Cappadocia,  and  to  have 
taken  captive  some  of  the  natives.  Philostorgius  asserts 
that  among  these  captives  were  ecclesiastics  who  con- 
verted some  of  their  captors,  and  that  one  of  these  was 
an  ancestor  of  Ulfilas. 

It  is  recorded  that  a  Gothic  bishop  named  Theophi- 
lus  attended  the  Council  of  Nicaea,  where  he  signed  the 
Orthodox  creed,  nearly  half  a  century  before  Ulfilas  ap- 
pears upon  the  stage.  The  latter  may  have  been  the 
descendant  of  a  Cappadocian  captive,  but  was  unques- 
tionably of  Gothic  birth.  The  family  name  Wolf  el,  of 
which  Ulfilas  is  the  latinization,  is  certainly  German. 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  15. 

It  was  not  until  near  the  middle  of  this  century  that 
the  learned  world  had  any  authentic  knowledge  of  the 
history  of  this  remarkable  man.  The  way  in  which  that 
knowledge  was  obtained  is  very  curious,  —  one  of  the 
instances  so  common  in  our  time  of  the  unexpected 
recovery  of  long-buried  literary  treasures.  A  German 
professor,  by  the  name  of  Waitz,  in  1840  found  in  the 
library  of  Paris  a  manuscript  of  the  fourth  century,  con- 
taining the  strictures  of  an  Arian  bishop,  Maximinus,  on 
the  Council  of  Aquileja  (381).  In  this  manuscript  is 
inserted  a  life  of  Ulfilas,  by  the  bishop  Auxentius  of 
Dorostorius,  who,  when  a  child,  had  been  committed  by 
his  parents  to  the  care  of  Ulfilas  for  instruction  in  the 
sacred  Scriptures.  Before  this  discovery,  all  that  was 
known  of  him  was  that  he  was  a  Gothic  bishop  who 
translated  the  Bible  into  his  native  tongue.  From  the 
manuscript  of  Maximinus  we  learn  that  he  was  born  in 
311,  was  consecrated  bishop  in  341,  and  died  during 
a  visit  to  Constantinople  in  388,  greatly  honored  and 
deeply  lamented  by  his  people.  He  translated  into  his 
native  Gothic,  it  is  said,  the  whole  Bible,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  books  of  Samuel  and  of  Kings.  These  he 
omitted  on  account  of  the  frequent  fighting  recorded  in 
them.  His  Goths  were  already  quite  too  fond  of  that 
sort  of  thing ;  the  encouragement  of  Biblical  precedent 
might  stimulate  injuriously  their  native  proclivities. 
He  is  also,  but  erroneously,  said  to  have  invented  an 
alphabet  for  his  work. 

It  is  an  interesting  circumstance  that  this  Gothic  ver- 
sion of  the  Scriptures  was  nearly  contemporary  with  the 
preparation  of  that  Latin  one  which,  under  the  name  of 
the  "  Yulgate,'-'  was  for  a  thousand  years  the  only  au- 
thorized Bible  of  Western  Christendom,  and  is  still  the 


16  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Bible  ^ar  excellence  of  the  Romish  Church.  Saint  Jerome, 
at  work  upon  this  Latin  version  in  his  cell  at  Bethlehem 
in  403  A.  D.,  was  surprised  by  a  letter  from  two  Goths, 
requesting  light  on  certain  discrepancies  which  they  had 
noticed  between  the  Latin  and  the  Alexandrian  versions 
of  the  Psalms.  ''  Who  would  believe,"  he  said,  "  that  the 
barbarous  tongue  of  the  Goths  would  be  inquiring  about 
the  true  sense  of  the  Hebrew  original ;  and  that  while  the 
Greeks  were  sleeping,  or  contemptuous,  Germany  would 
be  investigating  ,the  words  of  the  Holy  Spirit  ?  "  ^ 

The  work  of  Ulfilas  was  held  in  high  estimation  for 
several  centuries  by  descendants  of  the  Goths  in  Italy 
and  Spain.  As  late  as  the  seventh  century  the  language 
in  which  it  is  written  was  still  understood  if  not  spoken. 
Then  it  passed  out  of  sight,  and  all  that  was  known 
about  it,  or  its  author,  was  the  assertion  of  Greek  eccle- 
siastical historians,  —  that  there  was  once  a  bishop 
of  the  Goths  who  had  translated  the  Bible  into  their 
vernacular. 

Six  hundred  years  went  by  before,  toward  the  close 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  one  Arnold  Mercator,  an  offi- 
cer in  the  service  of  the  Hessian  Landgrave,  William 
IV.,  reported  the  discovery  in  the  Abbey  of  Werden 
of  a  German  translation  of  the  Gospels  written  on 
parchment.  This  precious  manuscript  afterward  found 
its  way  to  Prague,  and  when  the  Swedes  took  Prague 
in  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  was  seized  and  transferred 
to  Stockholm.  Thence,  for  reasons  and  by  means  un- 
known to  me,  it  travelled  to  Holland.  There  it  was  pur- 
chased by  the  Swedish  chancellor.  Count  de  la  Gardie, 

1  Quis  crederet  ut  barbara  Getarura  lingua  Hebraicam  quaereret  veri- 
tatem,  et  dorraitantibus,  immo  contemnentibus  Graecis,  ipsa  Germania 
Spiritus  Sancti  eloquia  scrutaretur  ? 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  17. 

and  presented  to  the  University  of  Upsala  in  1669, 
where  it  remains  to  this  day.  It  is  inscribed,  partly  in 
silver  and  partly  in  gold  letters,  on  a  purple  ground, 
and  is  bound  in  solid  silver ;  hence  called  codex  argen- 
teus.  It  had  originally  three  hundred  and  thirty  leaves, 
of  which  only  one  hundred  and  seventy-seven  remain. 
It  gives  the  Gospels  in  a  different  order  from  that  with 
which  we  are  familiar,  —  namely,  Matthew,  John,  Luke, 
and  Mark.  This  manuscript,  dating  from  the  close  of 
the  fifth  century,  when  the  Ostrogoths,  had  possession 
of  Italy,  is  the  only  original  one  known  to  be  extant 
which  contains  any  portion  of  Ulfilas's  version.  There 
are  five  or  six  others  containing  small  fragments,  but 
these  are  copies  of  a  later  date.  The  entire  version  is 
nowhere  preserved ;  of  the  Old  Testament,  only  por- 
tions of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah. 

In  a  scientific  view  the  value  of  these  fragments,  mea- 
gre as  they  are,  is  immense.  The  enthusiasm  of  the 
philologer  has  not  overrated  their  import.  Without  them 
the  knowledge  of  the  oldest  branch  of  German  speech 
would  be  wanting.  The  piety  of  the  Visigoth  (a  name 
which  stands  as  a  synonym  for  barbarism)  has  fur- 
nished to  the  science  of  language  —  a  science  of  wholly 
modern  growth  —  a  more  important  contribution  than  all 
the  scholars  of  his  time.  Little  did  the  good  bishop, 
toiling  for  his  wild  flock  to  tame  their  savageness  and  to 
give  them  those  milder  manners  with  which  Saint  Chry- 
sostom  credits  them  in  a  sermon  still  extant,  and  which 
he  applauds  as  the  fruit  of  Christian  teaching,  —  little 
did  he  dream  that  a  fragment  of  his  work,  enshrined  in 
silver,  at  the  distance  of  fourteen  hundred  years,  would 
gladden  the  heart  of  a  plodding  Gelehrte  and  stimulate  a 
new  branch  of  human  learning. 

2 


18  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

This  is  not  the  only  instance  in  which  religion  has 
rendered  such  aid  to  science.  To  the  sacred  books  of 
the  Hindus  we  are  indebted  for  the  preservation  of  the 
earliest  form  of  that  widespread  family  of  languages  from 
which  our  own,  and  those  of  the  greater  portion  of  Eu- 
rope, are  derived.  To  Christian  missionaries  we  are  in- 
debted for  our  best  knowledge  of  China  and  the  written 
wisdom  of  that  alien  race.  And,  to  cite  an  example 
nearer  home,  an  American  apostle  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century  performed  a  task  in  character  and 
purpose  the  same  with  that  of  Ulfilas,  but  incomparably 
more  difficult.  The  Goth  translated  the  Bible  from  a 
language  the  acquisition  of  which  was  facilitated  by  all 
the  means  and  appliances  which  a  civilized  dialect  with 
a  literature  of  its  own  supplies  to  the  learner,  into  his 
own  familiar  tongue.  John  Eliot  turned  the  same  scrip- 
tures into  a  foreign,  unwritten,  undeveloped  language,  of 
which  he  had  known  not  a  word  until  nearly  his  fiftieth 
year,  —  a  language  with  words  of  such  portentous  length, 
that  Cotton  Mather  said  they  must  have  been  growing 
ever  since  the  Tower  of  Babel ;  a  language  having  no 
affinity  with  any  dialect  of  civilized  man.  The  world's 
libraries  contain  no  work  more  brave  in  its  conception, 
more  wonderful  in  its  execution,  than  Eliot's  Indian 
Bible.  The  seventeenth  century  witnessed  no  feat  more 
arduous  than  the  making  of  that  book. 

Curiously  enough,  it  was  the  first  Bible  ever  printed  on 
this  continent,  the  printing  of  English  Bibles  being  then 
a  monopoly  of  the  British  crown.  The  race  who  used 
the  language  in  which  it  was  written  has  long  since 
passed  from  the  earth.  The  language  is  extinct ;  this 
Bible  with  its  accompanying  grammar  is  its  only  remain- 
ing monument.     Probably  there  lives  not  the  man  who 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  19 

can  read  it  without  the  aid  of  a  translation.  But  there 
it  is,  an  imperishable  witness  of  holy  zeal  and  indomita- 
ble patience.  The  end  for  which  piety  designed  it,  —  the 
edification  of  future  generations  of  Mohicans, — has  failed 
through  the  failure,  undreamed  of  by  Eliot,  of  the  race 
for  whom  he  toiled ;  but  like  the  work  of  the  Yisigoth  it 
subserves  another  end,  which  its  author  did  not  intend, 
and  could  hardly  have  foreseen.  As  an  aid  to  compara- 
tive philology,  as  a  guide  to  the  knowledge  of  the  lan- 
guages of  the  aborigines  of  North  America,  and  through 
them,  it  may  be,  of  other  dialects  of  other  savage  tribes, 
it  renders  a  service  to  the  cause  of  science  for  which  the 
learned  in  all  generations  should  bless  that  good  man's 
name. 

This,  then,  is  our  present  interest  in  the  work  of  Ulfilas, 
this  the  claim  which  these  hardly-preserved  fragments 
have  on  our  regard  ;  they  reveal  to  us,  if  not  the  fountain 
head,  for  which  we  must  look  beyond  the  Himalaya,  yet 
one  of  the  earliest  tributaries  of  German  speech. 

And  now,  to  show  how  much  of  modern  German  there 
is  in  that  old  Gothic  dialect,  here  is  Ulfilas'  rendering  of 
the  best-known  portion  of  the  New  Testament,  the  Lord's 
Prayer :  — 

Atta  unsar  pu  in  himinam,  Veinai  namo  pein.  Quimai  pu- 
dinassus  peins.  Vairpai  vilja  peins,  sve  in  himina  jah  ana 
airpai.  Hlaif  unserana  pana  sinteinam  gif  uns  himma  daga. 
Jah  aflet  uns  patei  skulans  sijaima  svasve  jah  veis  afletam  paim 
skulam  unseraim.  Jah  ni  briggais  uns  in  fraistubnjai,  ak  lausei 
uns  af  pamma  ubilin  ;  unte  peina  ist  pudangardi  jah  mats,  jah 
vulpus,  in  awans.     Amen. 

Although  the  Gothic  is  the  oldest  form  of  German 
speech  of  which  any  monuments  survive,  it  would  be  in 


20  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

correct  to  say  that  modern  German  is  derived  originally 
from  the  Gothic ;  both  are  descended  from  an  earlier 
tongue,  of  which  no  monuments  remain.  The  Scandi- 
navian dialects  —  the  High  German,  the  Low  German 
with  its  branches,  Saxon,  Anglo-Saxon,  Dutch  and  Platt- 
deutsch  (German  patois)  and  the  Frisian  —  are  oif spring 
of  the  same  stock.  The  more  immediate  antecedents  of 
the  German  of  to-day  are  Old  High-German,  Middle 
High-German,  Low  German,  and  Saxon,  a  branch  of  Low 
German.  Of  the  Old  High-German  we  have  a  trans- 
lation and  exposition  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  by  an  un- 
known author,  near  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  century. 
The  original  is  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Munich.  A 
comparison  of  this  with  the  version  of  Ulfilas  will  show 
how  truly  the  Gothic  may  claim  to  be  German,  and  how 
little  progress  was  made  in  the  development  of  the  lan- 
guage during  the  space  of  four  hundred  years.  Here  is 
the  first  clause  :  — 

Fater  unser  der  ist  in  himilom,  Kaeuaihit  uuerde  din  namo. 

In  Low  German  (one  of  the  sources  of  modern  Ger- 
man), or  partly  in  that  dialect,  is  an  old  heroic  poem  of 
the  eighth  century,  of  which  a  fragment  has  come  down 
to  us  with  the  title  "  Hildebrand  and  Hadubrand."  The 
story  which  furnished  the  material  of  the  poem  is  as 
follows :  — 

Hildebrand,  an  Ostrogoth,  had  fled  with  Dietrich  of 
Bern  (Theodoric)  before  the  arms  of  Odoacer  from  Italy 
to  the  Huns,  leaving  behind  him  a  wife  and  an  infant 
son.  After  an  interval  of  thirty  years,  during  which 
his  enemies,  with  Odoacer  at  their  head,  had  been  slain 
in  battle,  he  returns  to  his  native  land.  Meanwhile  his 
son  Hadubrand  had  grown  to  be   a  powerful  warrior. 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  21 

And  now,  with  an  accompaniment  of  armed  men,  he 
marches  to  the  border  to  oppose  the  entrance  of  Hilde- 
brand  with  his  followers,  whom  he  takes  for  enemies. 
Not  knowing  him  to  be  his  father,  he  challenges  him  to 
single  combat.  Hildebrand  knows  his  son,  and  endea- 
vors to  dissuade  him  from  the  duel.  He  tells  his  story, 
which  Hadubrand  discredits,  insisting  that  his  father  is 
dead,  —  for  so  it  had  been  reported  by  seafaring  men  who 
came  over  the  Wendelsee  (the  Mediterranean).  Hilde- 
brand takes  from  his  arm  the  golden  bracelet,  the  most 
esteemed  ornament  of  a  German  warrior,  and  offers  it 
to  propitiate  his  son.  The  younger  hero  disdains  the 
gift,  which  he  boasts  he  will  win  with  his  sword.  ''  Thou 
art  a  Hun  ;  "  he  says,  "  a  cunning  Hun  ;  thou  wishest  to 
mislead  in  order  to  slay  me."  "  Woe !  "  cries  Hilde- 
brand, "  now  is  the  day  of  my  calamity  come ;  thirty 
winters  and  thirty  summers  I  have  roamed  an  exile,  and 
now  will  my  beloved  child  hew  me  with  the  sword  or 
compel  me  to  be  his  murderer !  Nevertheless,  the  most 
cowardly  were  he  of  the  men  of  the  eastland  [the  Ostro- 
goths] who  would  keep  thee  from  the  conflict  since  thy 
heart  desires  it."  Then  father  and  son  first  hurled  at 
each  other  their  lances  of  ash,  and  afterward  closed  with 
each  other  in  hand-to-hand  conflict,  and  smote  with  grim 
strokes  each  other's  white  shields,  until  the  edges  thereof 
were  hacked  in  pieces  by  the  blows  of  their  swords. 

Here,  provokingly,  this  ancient  fragment  —  which, 
bound  in  vellum,  is  still  preserved  in  the  library  of  Cas- 
sel  —  ends.  But  fortunately,  for  the  satisfaction  of  our 
curiosity,  the  sequel  has  come  down  to  us  by  another 
way.  After  an  interval  of  seven  hundred  years,  during 
which  this  remarkable  lay  may  be  supposed  to  have  lived 
an  oral  life  in  popular  song,  its  substance,  toward  the 


22  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  was  embodied  in  a  new 
poem,  entitled  "-  The  Father  with  the  Son,"  by  one 
Kaspar  von  der  Roen.  There  we  learn  that  the  sexa- 
genarian sire  was  victor  in  that  unnatural  combat. 
Hadubrand  being  vanquished,  acknowledges  Hildebrand 
for  his  father,  and  leads  him  home  to  his  mother,  who 
is  greatly  surprised  to  see  the  old  man,  supposed  to  be 
dead,  led  by  the  hand  of  her  son,  and  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  Then  Hadubrand  discloses  to  her  that  the 
stranger  is  her  husband  ;  and  Hildebrand  drops,  as  a 
token,  his  golden  ring  into  the  cup  of  his  beloved  wife. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  for  what  remains  of  the 
elder  poem  we  are  indebted  to  the  literary  taste  of  two 
monks  in  the  monastery  of  Fulda.  These  worthy  friars, 
who  found,  no  doubt,  their  monastic  life  hang  heavy  on 
their  hands,  for  want  of  something  better  to  do  in  the 
intervals  of  prayer,  engrossed  this  lay  which  may  have 
been  familiar  to  them  from  their  earlier  secular  experi- 
ence :  the  one  by  turns  dictating,  the  other  writing  on 
the  only  material  afforded  them,  —  the  blank  spaces  of 
a  prayer-book,  of  whose  devout  breathings  the  author,  it 
is  likely,  would  not  have  approved  as  a  fit  accompani- 
ment, —  these  secular  and  partly  heathenish  heroics. 

The  verses  of  this  poem  are  without  rhyme,  and  with- 
out even  the  alliteration  which  meets  us  somewhat  later 
as  a  prominent  characteristic  of  mediaeval  poetry.  They 
lack,  of  course,  the  exact  measure  of  the  Greeks  and 
Latins,  differing  in  that  so  widely  from  modern  verse. 
Still  there  is  a  rhythm,  an  appreciable  rhythm,  but  no 
metre.  The  rhythmical  effect  is  produced  by  an  arsis, 
or  lift,  which  marks  the  beginning  of  a  verse,  and  is  once 
or  twice  repeated,  thus  distinguishing  poetic  diction  from 
chance-accented,  irregular  prose. 


ELDEST  MONUMENTS.  23 

There  survives  in  the  Low-German  dialect  a  confession 
of  faith  and  a  form  of  renunciation  of  the  Devil  ordered 
by  a  council  of  the  Church  called  by  Charles  Martel  in  the 
eighth  century,  in  which  we  discern  a  somewhat  nearer 
approximation  to  the  German,  and  also  to  the  English 
of  our  day.  To  the  same  period  belongs,  moreover,  a 
celebrated  poem  of  which  the  original  is  lost,  and  only 
a  Latin  version  dating  from  the  earlier  years  of  the  tenth 
century  survives.  It  relates  the  story  of  Walter  of  Aqui- 
taine,  his  encounter  with  Giinther,  king  of  the  Burgun- 
dians,  and  his  twelve  champions  in  a  narrow  pass  of  the 
Vosges.  They  seek  to  wrest  from  him  the  rich  treasures 
which  he  brought  from  the  Huns,  and  his  betrothed 
Hildegard  whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  hands  of 
Attila.  Walter  fights  these  warriors,  one  after  another, 
in  single  combat,  and,  though  he  loses  his  right  hand  in 
the  conflict,  overcomes  them  all,  secures  his  treasures 
and  his  bride,  reaches  his  native  land,  where  his  nuptials 
are  celebrated  with  royal  festivity,  succeeds  his  father 
on  the  throne,  and  reigns  in  Aquitania  thirty  years, 
a  just  and  beneficent  sovereign.  If  we  may  trust  the 
enthusiasm  of  certain  philo-German  antiquaries,  the 
description  of  those  successive  duels,  each  with  differ- 
ent accompaniments  and  fresh  characterization,  exceeds 
everything  of  later  interest  in  that  line,  and  is  not  sur- 
passed by  Homer  himself.  Enthusiasm  is  not  always  a 
trustworthy  critic  ;  still,  one  can  see  that  the  stuff  is 
good,  and  the  situation  well  chosen. 

Of  other  writings  in  the  rude  German  of  those  distant 
years,  I  will  only  mention  the  great  Saxon  epic  of  the 
ninth  century,  —  the  "  Heliand,"  or  "  History  of  Christ," 
which  Vilmar  pronounces  the  most  perfect  and  sublime 
work  that  the  Christian  muse  in  any  age  or  nation  has 


24  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

produced ;  the  only  real  Christian  epos,  and,  apart  from 
its  Christian  contents,  one  of  the  most  glorious  of  poetic 
creations.  I  confess  a  mistrust  of  the  eulogy  which 
throws  Dante  and  Milton  into  the  shade.  No  one  as 
yet,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  thought  it  worth  the  while  to 
translate  this  vaunted  masterpiece  into  modern  German, 
or  into  any  modern  language  ;  and  the  specimen  given 
by  the  critic  whom  I  have  named  does  not  seem  to  me 
to  justify  his  encomium. 

Within  less  than  half  a  century  after  the  composition 
of  the  "  Heliand  "  by  an  unknown  author  or  authors,  — 
a  work  which  waited  six  centuries  for  a  publisher,  —  one 
Otfrid  in  Alsace,  a  Dominican  friar,  handled  the  same 
subject  less  impressively  but  more  artistically  in  a  poem 
which  is  chiefly  remarkable  as  the  earliest  German  poem 
in  rhyme,  and  as  furnishing  a  model  for  that  kind  of 
verse  in  later  ages. 

Of  these  and  other  contemporary  writings  I  care  not 
to  speak  at  length,  but  pass  at  once  over  an  interval  of 
more  than  three  centuries  to  the  period  of  tlie  full 
efflorescence  of  ancient  German  classic  poetry,  —  the 
period  of  the  Nibelungen  and  the  Minnesingers. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  25 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   NIBELUNGENLIED. 

THE  Nibelungenlied,  like  the  Iliad,  is  an  epic  in  the 
strictest  sense  of  the  term, —  a  people's  epos  as 
distinguished  from  the  epopee^  a  word  implying  artistic 
creation. 

In  a  loose  way  we  call  Virgil's  Aeneid  an  epic  ;  also 
Tasso's  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  and  even  Milton's  Para- 
dise Lost.  But  criticism  notes  a  difference  in  kind  be- 
tween these  masterpieces  of  poetic  art  and  the  Iliad. 
Virgil  proposes  to  himself  a  narrative  poem,  of  which 
Aeneas  shall  be  the  hero ;  which  shall  consist  of  so  many 
books,  and  in  which  such  and  such  characters  and  inci- 
dents shall  be  embodied.  The  idea  governs  and  moulds 
the  stuff ;  it  is  a  work  of  art.  Tasso  plans  a  Christian 
poem,  to  glorify  Christian  manhood,  and  finds  his  ma- 
terials in  the  first  crusade.  Milton  finds  his  material 
outside  the  actual  world,  and  constructs  a  poem  whose 
characters  are  ideas.  Obviously  the  Iliad  was  gener- 
ated in  no  such  way.  Here  was  no  forecasting,  no  cun- 
ning invention,  no  fabrication,  but  simply  an  arranging 
by  some  unknown  hand  of  existing  materials ;  a  telling 
of  stories  that  were  current,  in  such  sequence  as  to  form 
a  connected  whole.  The  poem  throughout  is  pure  narra- 
tive ;  a  presentation  of  persons  and  events  with  no  ac- 
companying reflections  or  ulterior  design ;  the  author's 
personality  nowhere  appears,  and  Homer  is  only  a  name 


26  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

for  the  unity  of  the  compositions  to  which  it  is  assigned, 
—  a  name  which  throws  no  light  on  their  origin  ;  it  is  the 
name  of  an  dolSo^,  not  a  Troci^rrj^;,  —  of  a  singer,  not  a 
maker.  The  Iliad  is  not  a  work  of  art ;  was  not  made, 
in  the  ordinary  literary  sense  of  the  term,  but  grew. 
Where,  when,  and  how  it  grew  —  its  true  genesis  —  is  a 
question  involved  in  impenetrable  mystery. 

The  same  obscurity  envelops  the  origin  of  the  Nibe- 
lungen.  Here  we  have  not  even  the  name  of  a  compilei* 
attached  to  the  Sagas,  which  gathered  and  rounded  by 
some  unknown  hand  have  taken  this  name. 

Critics  are  divided  on  the  question,  whether  it  is  the 
work  of  one  individual  or  of  several.  Lachmann  main- 
tained the  latter  view.  Bartsch  and  his  followers  incline 
to  the  former.  Hermann  Fischer,  in  his  "  Forschungen 
iiber  das  Nibelungenlied  seit  Lachmann,"  has  pro- 
pounded the  name  of  Conrad  von  Kiirenberger  as  the 
probable  author.  Scheffel,  in  his  "  Ekkehard,"  adopts 
this  opinion.  Kiirenberger  was  one  of  the  Minnesingers 
of  the  twelfth  century,  whose  extant  verses  are  composed 
in  the  same  stanza  as  that  of  the  Nibelungen.  But 
whoever  may  have  been  the  author  of  the  poem,  as  we 
now  have  it,  can  he  be  regarded  only  as  compiler  of  pre- 
existing legends.  Lachmann  detected,  as  he  thought, 
twenty  distinct  poems  in  the  thirty-nine  cantos  which 
compose  the  present  work ;  the  remaining  nineteen  he 
supposes  were  added  and  intermixed  by  the  compiler,  to 
give  unity  and  wholeness  to  the  poem.  The  approximate 
date  of  the  composition  is  from  70  to  80  of  the  twelfth 
century. 

Twenty  manuscript  copies  of  the  original  have  come  to 
light,  but  before  the  invention  of  printing  it  had  passed 
into  oblivion  for  three  hundred  years.      The  fifteenth 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED,  27 

century  knew  nothing  of  it,  or  next  to  nothing ;  the  six- 
teenth nothing ;  the  seventeenth  nothing.  About  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth,  a  little  more  than  a  hundred 
years  ago,  a  Swiss-German  writer,  Bodmer,  discovered 
a  manuscript  in  the  library  of  the  Count  of  Ems,  in  the 
Orisons,  from  which  he  published  the  latter  half  with  the 
title,  "  Chriemhilde's  Revenge."  Another  Swiss,  Miiller 
by  name,  a  teacher  in  Berlin,  published  somewhat  later 
the  whole  poem,  with  the  present  title,  Nibelungen.  But 
the  time  had  not  arrived  for  the  right  appreciation  of  this 
precious  relic  of  the  Middle  Age.  French  taste  still 
prevailed,  at  least  in  Berlin,  and  especially  at  court. 
There  is  extant  an  autograph  letter  of  Frederick  the 
Great,  showing  how  utterly  abhorrent  from  all  his  views 
were  such  productions.  "  In  my  judgment,"  he  says, 
"  they  are  not  worth  a  charge  of  gunpowder.  I  would  n't 
have  them  in  my  library;  I  would  pitch  them  out  if  I 
found  them  there."  This  letter  may  be  seen  preserved  in 
a  glass  case  in  the  public  library  at  Zurich,  —  a  curious 
proof  of  the  extent  to  which  the  Gallomania  of  that  age 
had  infected  the  literary  taste  of  Germany.  With  Fred- 
erick it  was  something  more  than  Gallomania ;  it  was 
positive  literary  anti-Germanism. 

The  Nibelungen  draws  its  characters  and  incidents 
from  several  distinct  Sagas,  or  cycles  of  Sagas,  —  the 
so-called  Frankish,  or  Siegfried-Saga ;  the  Burgundian, 
in  which  Giinther  and  Hagen,  Kriemhild  and  Brunhild, 
and  the  city  of  Worms  figure ;  the  Ostrogothic,  in 
which  we  encounter  Dietrich  of  Bern,  who  has  been 
identified  with  Theodoric  of  Yerona ;  and  finally  the  Hun- 
nish  Saga,  concerning  Etzel,  who  is  recognized  as  Attila, 
the  redoubtable  king  of  the  Huns.  The  first  of  these, 
the   Siegfried-Saga,  possesses  an  interest  independent 


28  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

of  its  connection  with  the  Nibelungenlied.  Siegfried  ^  is 
the  central  figure  of  German  mediaeval  fable ;  he  bears 
the  same  relation  to  German  tradition  that  Rustam  does 
to  Persian,  or  the  Cid  to  Spanish.  In  the  latter  case,  it 
is  true,  the  historical  element  is  firmer  and  larger,  but 
the  mythical  element  is  by  no  means  wanting.  Neither 
is  the  historical  element,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  alto- 
gether wanting  in  Siegfried,  although  it  is  impossible 
to  disentangle  it  from  its  mythical  connections.  Given 
an  exceptional  character,  a  person  eminent  in  good  or 
in  evil,  —  a  saint,  a  hero,  or  an  outlaw,  —  in  an  age  an- 
tecedent to  the  art  of  printing,  and  myths  will  gather 
around  him  as  naturally  as  iron  filings  around  a  magnet. 
The  fight  with  the  dragon  —  the  critical  adventure  of 
Siegfried's  youth  —  suggests  at  once  a  kindred  company 
of  dragon-killers,  from  Hercules  and  Rustam  to  Saint 
George,  and  sets  the  hero  in  a  canon  of  international 
mythology.  It  is  a  curious  and  yet  unexplained  coinci- 
dence, that  in  regions  so  remote  from  each  other,  and 
with  nations  so  diverse,  —  Persians,  Greeks,  Germans, 
—  the  dragon  fight  should  be  the  chief  ordeal,  and 
dragon-slaying  the  sufficing  test  of  heroism.  It  seems 
that  the  dragon  was  regarded  as  the  symbol  of  the 
Powers  of  Darkness,  and  the  dragon-slayer  as  approv- 
ing himself  by  that  act  the  ally  and  prot^g^  of  the 
Powers  of  Light. 

Our  German  hero  bears  in  legendary  lore  the  sobri- 
quet "Horned,"  —  "Der  Gehornte,"  or,  in  Old  German, 
"  der  htirnin  Siegfried,"  —  not  as  being  furnished  by 
Nature  with  the  weapons  ofiPensive  and  defensive  of  a 
bull  or  a  bison,  but  as  being  invulnerable,  having  a  skin 

1  I  have  preferred  to  adopt  the  modem  German  spelUng  of  this  name, 
instead  of  the  older  Sigfrid. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  29 

as  of  horn.  The  legends  which  recount  his  achieve- 
ments and  fortunes  vary  widely,  not  only  in  their  inci- 
dents and  images,  but  in  their  fundamental  conception 
of  the  man.  There  is  the  Scandinavian  and  the  German 
Siegfried,  —  two  distinct  types.  The  Scandinavian  was 
formerly  thought  to  be  the  original,  and  the  German  a 
Christian  reflection  and  modified  form  of  the  Northern 
demigod.  But  later  criticism  has  established  the  priority 
of  the  German  type.  The  mistake  of  the  old  theory 
appears  to  have  arisen  from  the  circumstance  that  the 
Nibelungen,  or  Niflungen  ("  children  of  the  mist "),  with 
whom  Siegfried  allies  himself,  and  who  had  settled  in 
Worms  on  the  Rhine,  originally  came  from  the  North, 
and  that  the  seat  of  the  Nibelungenhort,  or  treasure 
of  the  Nibelungen,  which  plays  so  important  a  part  in 
the  poem,  is  supposed  to  be  Norway.  Transferred  to 
the  North,  the  German  type  took  on  the  characteristics 
of  Northern  fable,  and  Siegfried  becomes  a  mythological 
monster,  divested  of  the  human  attributes  which  en- 
deared him  to  the  milder  feeling  of  the  German  singers. 
Judged  by  modern  standards,  the  character,  even  in 
their  gentler  portraiture,  is  sufficiently  savage. 

Siegfried,  according  to  the  legends,  is  the  son  of  King 
Sigmund  and  Queen  Sigelinde,  who  dwell  at  Santen  on 
the  Lower  Rhine.  As  a  boy  he  quits  his  parents  in 
search  of  adventure,  and  falls  in  with  a  smith  named 
Mimer,  with  whom  he  engages  himself  as  an  apprentice. 
But  the  wonderful  strength  which  he  displays  in  a  blow 
on  the  anvil,  that  sinks  it  into  the  ground,  puts  Mimer 
in  terror  of  his  life.  So,  under  pretence  of  procuring 
coal  for  the  stithy,  he  sends  his  apprentice  to  a  forest 
where  dwells  a  dragon,  through  whose  assistance  he 
trusts  to  be  released  from  his  troublesome  indenture. 


30  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

The  dragon  is  Mimer's  brother  in  disguise.  But  though 
they  meet,  —  the  youth  and  the  dragon,  —  the  encounter 
has  not  the  looked-for  result.  Siegfried  slays  the  beast, 
piles  trees  upon  him,  and  roasts  him;  anoints  himself 
with  the  fat  of  the  melted  scaly  hide,  and  thereby  be- 
comes invulnerable,  except  in  one  spot  between  the 
shoulders,  where  his  hand  could  not  reach,  or  where, 
according  to  another  account,  the  leaf  of  a  linden  tree 
lodged  during  the  operation.  Another  miraculous  ad- 
vantage he  gained  from  the  victory.  In  a  culinary 
experiment  on  the  flesh  of  the  monster,  tasting  of  the 
blood,  he  found  himself  suddenly  endowed  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  language  of  birds.  Said  one  bird  to 
another  :  "  If  Siegfried  knew  what  we  know,  he  would 
kill  Mimer,  who  will  be  sure  to  avenge  the  death  of  his 
brother."  Our  hero  took  the  hint ;  he  returned  to  the 
stithy  with  the  serpent's  head  in  his  hand,  which  he 
proposed  to  Mimer,  in  a  somewhat  obligatory  way,  to 
eat.  The  smith,  to  pacify  him,  offered  him  a  suit  of 
armor  bright  as  silver  and  hard  as  steel,  a  sword  (Gram) 
of  irresistible  force,  and  promised  to  procure  for  him 
a  steed  of  wonderful  virtue,  belonging  to  a  lady  of  his 
acquaintance  named  Brunhild.  Siegfried  appeared  to 
consent;  accepted  the  armor,  was  shown  the  way  to 
Brunhild's  castle,  and  then  settled  his  account  with 
Mimer  by  cleaving  his  skull.  Arrived  at  the  castle,  he 
found  no  difficulty  in  bursting  the  iron  gates  with  a 
kick  of  his  foot,  and  in  killing  the  seven  warders  with 
his  sword  Gram.  These  lively  proceedings  interested 
Brunhild  in  the  youthful  stranger.  To  her  inquiry, 
what  had  procured  her  the  honor  of  his  visit,  he  re- 
plied by  referring  to  a  horse  in  her  stud  named  Grane, 
which  he   would  like   to   possess.     Brunhild  made   no 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  31 

objection :  lie  might  have  the  steed  if  the  steed  could 
be  caught.  Twelve  of  her  servants  accompanied  him  to 
the  field  where  the  horse  ran  wild,  and  eluded  all  their 
efforts  to  lay  hold  of  him.  But  when  Siegfried  ap- 
proached he  came  of  his  own  accord,  and  submitted  to 
the  bridle  as  a  horse  that  knows  his  master.  Siegfried 
then  took  leave  of  Brunhild,  —  some  will  have  it  as  her 
betrothed ;  but  inasmuch  as  he  never  claimed  her  for 
his  wife,  German  honor  rejects  the  supposition  of  the 
broken  vow. 

Another  adventure,  which  it  is  impossible  to  bring 
into  chronological  harmony  with  what  has  been  already 
narrated,  but  which  has  an  important  bearing  on  the 
Nibelungenlied,  and  is  incidentally  referred  to  in  that 
poem,  is  the  acquisition  of  the  fabulous  treasure,  —  the 
so-called  Nibelungenhort,  —  which  happened  on  this 
wise.  Riding  alone  one  day  in  the  land  of  the  Nibe- 
lungen,  Siegfried  came  to  the  foot  of  a  hill  where  two 
princes,  Nibelung  and  Shilbung,  were  striving  for  an 
equitable  division  of  an  immense  treasure  which  had 
just  been  brought  out  of  a  cave,  —  gold  and  jewels  in 
such  abundance  that  one  hundred  wagons  coming  and 
going  three  times  a  day,  for  I  know  not  how  many  days, 
were  insufficient  to  bear  it  away.  Unable  to  agree  in  a 
satisfactory  adjustment  of  their  respective  rights,  they 
refer  the  matter  to  Siegfried,  and  make  him  a  present 
of  the  good  sword  Balmung,  —  which  formed  a  part  of 
the  treasure,  and  which,  it  seems,  was  a  weapon  alto- 
gether superior  to  Mimer's  Gram,  —  if  he  will  under- 
take the  division  of  the  hoard.  Siegfried  does  his  best ; 
but  who  can  satisfy  two  greedy  princes  ?  They  quarrel 
with  his  decision,  and  quarrel  with  him.  They  attempt  his 
life ;  but  fortunately  he  has  the  Balmung,  and  with  that 


32  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

he  despatches  them  both,  as  also  the  twelve  giants  their 
attendants,  and  a  whole  army  of  followers.  Then  he 
overcomes  Albrich  the  king  of  the  dwarfs,  who  it  seems 
has  a  lien  on  the  treasure,  takes  from  him  the  Tarn- 
kappe,  or  cloud-cloak,  which  possesses  the  property  of 
rendering  the  wearer  invisible,  and  appoints  him,  on  his 
oath  of  fidelity,  keeper  of  the  treasure,  which  is  taken 
back  to  the  cave,  and  to  which,  it  should  be  stated,  there 
cleaves  a  curse  pronounced  by  some  former  possessor, 
from  whom  it  had  been  wrested  in  old  mythological 
time. 

Thus  the  hero  has  all  that  hero  can  reasonably  desire. 
With  Grane  for  a  horse,  with  an  invulnerable  body,  a 
cloak  of  invisibility,  a  sword  that  will  sever  a  ball  of 
wool  floating  on  the  water,  and  will  cleave  a  mailed 
warrior  through  his  mail  so  deftly  that  he  shall  not  know 
what  has  happened  to  him  until  he  shakes  himself  and 
tumbles  in  pieces,  —  with  these,  and  a  hundred  wagon- 
loads  of  jewels  and  gold,  he  may  be  regarded  as  fairly 
well  equipped  to  encounter  the  rough  chances  of  an  un- 
certain world. 

The  Nibelungenlied,  in  its  present  form,  consists  of 
thirty-nine  lays,  called  Aventiuren  ("  Adventures  "),  and 
contains  2459  stanzas  of  four  verses  each.  The  first 
nineteen  lays,  in  which  the  scene  for  the  most  part  is 
the  ancient  city  of  Worms  on  the  Rhine,  are  occupied 
with  the  wooing  of  Kriemhild  by  Siegfried,  and  of 
Brunhild  by  Giinther,  Kriemhild's  brother,  king  of  the 
Burgundians ;  with  the  marriages  consequent  on  these 
wooings,  with  the  strife  between  the  two  sisters-in-law, 
with  the  treacherous  murder  of  Siegfried  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  Brunhild,  with  his  burial,  and  the  bringing  of  the 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  33 

Nibelung  hoard  to  Worms.  The  second  part  narrates 
the  marriage  of  the  widowed  Kriemhild  to  the  widowed 
Etzel  king  of  the  Huns,  her  purpose  of  revenge  on  the 
murderer  of  Siegfried,  the  invitation  of  her  relatives  to 
the  court  of  Etzel,  the  journey  of  the  Burgundians 
thither,  the  subsequent  terrible  conflicts  between  them 
and  their  hosts  the  Huns,  and  finally  the  deaths  of  the 
principal  actors  in  the  story. 

The  poem  opens  with  a  brief  statement  of  the  subject- 
matter,  and  introduces  us  at  once  to  the  court  of  the 
Burgundian  princes  at  Worms.  I  quote  here  and  else- 
where from  Lettsom's  translation  :  — 

"  In  Burgundy  there  flourished 

A  maid  so  fair  to  see, 
That  in  all  the  world  together 

A  fairer  could  not  be; 
The  maiden's  name  was  Kriemhild; 

Through  her  in  dismal  strife 
Full  many  a  prowest  warrior 

Thereafter  lost  his  life." 

After  the  proem,  announcing  the  theme,  the  story 
begins  with  a  dream  of  Kriemhild,  whose  bodeful  im- 
port prefigures  the  doom  which  the  future  has  in  store 
for  her.  She  dreams  of  having  nursed  and  trained  a 
young  falcon,  which  was  afterwards  torn  by  two  fierce 
eagles.  She  relates  the  dream  to  her  mother,  Uta,  who 
thus  interprets  it :  — 

"  The  falcon  that  thou  trained'st 
Is  sure  a  noble  mate ; 
God  shield  him  in  His  mercy, 

Or  thou  must  lose  him  straight!  '* 

But  Kriemhild  thinks  she  is  safe  from  any  danger  of 
that  sort,  for  she  never  means  to  marry,  — 

3 


34  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

*'  I'll  live  and  die  a  maiden, 
And  end  as  I  began ; 
Nor  (let  what  else  befall  me) 
Will  suffer  woe  for  man,"  — 

a  resolution  which  holds  good  till  the  right  suitor  comes. 
The  next  lay  takes  us  to  Netherland, — that  is,  the  coun- 
try of  the  Lower  Rhine,  —  to  the  court  of  King  Sigmund, 
and  describes  in  glowing  verse  the  wondrous  beauty  and 
prowess  of  young  Siegfried,  Sigmund's  and  Sigelinde's 
son.  Siegfried  has  heard  the  widespread  report  of  the 
charms  of  Kriemhild,  and  determines,  if  possible,  to 
make  her  his  wife.  Resisting  the  entreaties  of  his  father 
and  mother,  he  proceeds  with  twelve  chosen  attendants 
to  Worms ;  makes  himself  formidable  to  King  Giinther 
her  brother,  who  finds  it  politic  to  conciliate  the  stranger, 
till  Siegfried  finally  becomes  his  fast  friend,  and  estab- 
lishes himself  at  court,  where  the  nobles,  and  even  the 
fierce  and  terrible  Hagen,  are  won  to  love  him.  Then 
the  Burgundians  are  threatened  by  the  allied  hosts  of 
the  Saxons  and  Danes,  who  mean  to  dispossess  them  of 
their  kingdom.  The  king  in  despair  is  about  to  suc- 
cumb, but  Siegfried  encourages  him,  advises  resistance, 
and  engages,  with  an  army  of  only  one  thousand  men, 
to  repel  the  forty  thousand  of  the  invaders.  The  armies 
meet,  prodigies  of  valor  are  performed  on  both  sides ; 
but  Siegfried  of  course  is  victor,  and  returns  in  triumph, 
bringing  five  hundred  captives,  among  them  the  Saxon 
and  the  Danish  kings  Ludger  and  Ludgast.  A  splendid 
festival  is  arranged  to  celebrate  the  victory ;  and  now, 
for  the  first  time,  Siegfried  beholds  Kriemhild,  who  had 
already  secretly  watched  him,  and,  in  spite  of  her  vow, 
had  yielded  her  heart  to  the  gracious  champion.  By 
the  advice  of  Ortwine,  the  ladies  of  the  court  are  invited 
to  grace  the  feast. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  35 

**  On  from  bower  advancing 

They  came,  in  fair  array ; 
Much  press  was  there  of  heroes 

Along  the  crowded  way, 
Through  anxious  glad  expectance 

To  see  that  beauty  rare. 
The  fairest  and  the  noblest 

Of  the  noble  and  the  fair. 

"  As  the  moon  arising 

Out-glitters  every  star 
That  through  the  clouds  so  purely 

Glimmers  from  afar. 
E'en  so  love-breathing  Kriemhild 

Dimmed  every  beauty  nigh. 
Well  might  at  such  a  vision 

Many  a  heart  beat  high. 

*'  Then  inly  was  Sir  Siegfried 

Both  well  and  ill  r^aid; 
Within  himself  thus  thought  he, 

*  How  could  I  so  misdeem, 
That  I  should  dare  to  woo  thee? 

Sure  't  was  an  idle  dream. 
Yet  rather  than  forsake  thee, 

Far  better  were  I  dead ! ' 
Thus  thinking,  thus  impassioned, 

Waxed  he  ever  white  and  red. 

*'  So  stood  the  son  of  Sigelinde, 

In  matchless  grace  arrayed. 
As  though  upon  a  parchment 

In  glowing  hues  portrayed 
By  some  good  master's  cunning. 

All  owned,  and  could  no  less, 
Eye  had  not  seen  a  pattern 

Of  such  fair  manliness." 

The  comparison  in  this  last  stanza  is  notable  as  indi- 
cating the  age  of  the  composition.  Siegfried  is  likened 
to  a  figure  in  some  illuminated  manuscript.     The  art  of 


36  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

illumination,  in  which  modern  painting  had  its  rise,  was 
fully  developed  about  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century.  The  miniature  pictures  in  those  illuminations, 
especially  in  the  article  of  coloring,  have  often  great  ar- 
tistic merit.  At  a  later  period,  great  painters  like  Ci- 
mabue  and  Giotto  did  not  disdain  to  employ  themselves 
with  such  work.  There  are  illuminated  manuscripts  of 
a  very  much  earlier  date,  but  they  are  rare.  A  writer 
before  the  twelfth  century  would  not  be  likely  to  refer 
to  them.  Hence  we  conclude  that  whatever  the  age  of 
the  legends  on  which  the  poem  is  founded,  and  of  parts 
of  the  poem  itself,  that  particular  passage  is  the  work 
of  a  writer  who  lived  in  the  twelfth  century,  —  the  same, 
perhaps,  who  gathered  the  floating  fragments,  and  com- 
piled the  work. 

**  There  stood  he,  the  high-minded, 

Beneath  her  star-bright  eye, 
His  cheek  as  fire  all  glowing. 

Then  said  she  modestly : 
*  Sir  Siegfried,  you  are  welcome, 

Noble  knight  and  good.' 
Yet  loftier  at  that  greeting 

Rose  his  lofty  mood ; 
He  bowed  with  soft  emotion, 

And  thanked  the  blushing  fair. 
Love's  strong  constraint  together 

Impelled  the  enamoured  pair. " 

The  fifth  lay  recounts  King  Giinther's  wooing  of 
Queen  Brunhild  already  mentioned  in  the  Siegfried 
legend.  He  has  heard  of  the  wondrous  maiden,  —  as 
renowned  for  her  bodily  strength  as  she  is  for  her  riches 
and  peerless  beauty,  —  and  thinks  that  no  other  woman 
would  suit  him  so  well  for  a  wife.  Siegfried  endeavors  to 
dissuade  him  from  the  rash  adventure,  in  which,  accord- 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  37 

ing  to  the  terms  imposed  by  Brunhild  on  her  lovers,  he 
is  to  forfeit  his  life  if  he  does  not  beat  her  in  hurling 
the  spear,  in  throwing  the  stone,  and  leaping  after  it. 
Giinther  deems  it  impossible  that  he  should  not  be  a 
match  for  any  woman  in  feats  of  strength,  and  resolves 
to  make  the  trial.  He  entreats  Siegfried  to  accompany 
Iiim ;  and  the  latter  consents,  on  condition  that  he  shall 
have  Kriemhild  for  his  wife.  He  goes  as  Giinther's  ser- 
vant, and  takes  with  him  the  Tarnkappe,  or  cloud-cloak, 
won  from  the  dwarfs,  which  not  only  makes  the  wearer 
invisible,  but  gives  him  the  strength  of  twelve  men.  By 
this  means  the  king  appears  to  win  the  victory  really  due 
to  his  invisible  proxy,  and  Brunhild  reluctantly  enough 
consents  to  be  his  wife. 

To  accept  a  husband  is  one  thing ;  to  be  a  dutiful  and 
loving  wife  is  another.  Brunhild  had  agreed  per  force 
to  be  Queen  Giinther,  but  could  not  bring  herself  to  em- 
brace her  lord  and  spouse,  or  suffer  him  to  embrace  her, 
with  conjugal  affection.  He  must  keep  his  distance. 
So  the  bridal  chamber  is  converted  into  a  new  battle- 
field, and  becomes  the  scene  of  a  desperate  conflict.  The 
Burgundian  had  somehow,  greatly  to  her  astonishment, 
beat  her  in  casting  the  spear  and  hurling  the  stone  ;  but 
was  he,  after  all,  the  stronger  of  the  two  ?  That  is 
a  question  she  will  settle  at  once  and  forever.  The 
struggle  results  in  her  tying  him  hand  and  foot,  and 
suspending  him  by  a  nail  in  the  wall.  In  this  abnormal 
position  he  passed  the  small  hours.  In  the  morning  he 
was  taken  down  and  suffered  to  leave  the  room. 

Not  "  as  a  bridegroom  coming  forth  from  his  chamber 
and  rejoicing  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race,"  but  with  a 
woful  look  of  discomfiture  he  hurried  to  Siegfried  and 
made  his  complaint. 


38  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

**  No  sooner  came  I  near  her,  what  did  she  do  but  tie 
My  hands  and  feet  together,  and  hang  me  up  on  high! 
There  like  a  ball  I  dangled  all  night  till  break  of  day 
Before  she  would  unbind  me.     How  soft  the  while  she  lay!  " 

Siegfried  comforted  his  friend,  and  engaged  the  fol- 
lowing night  to  subdue  the  haughty  maiden,  so  that  ever 
after  she  should  be  his  submissive  wife. 

Accordingly,  by  means  of  the  cloud-cloak  he  gained 
admission  to  the  royal  chamber,  extinguished  the  lights, 
and  then,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  there  began  be- 
tween him  and  the  virago  —  who  supposed  all  the  while 
that  she  was  fighting  with  her  husband  —  a  conflict  which 
threatened  at  first  to  be  fatal  to  Siegfried,  but  ended  in 
giving  him  a  complete  victory.  She  acknowledged  her- 
self vanquished,  and  he  took  from  her  finger  a  ring, 
which  he  kept  as  a  trophy  of  his  prowess,  and  afterward 
gave  to  his  wife. 

Ten  years  later  a  quarrel  arose  between  the  two  queens 
as  to  the  merits  of  their  respective  husbands.  Proceed- 
ing from  one  thing  to  another,  as  such  altercations  will, 
Kriemhild  at  last  discloses  the  shameful  secret  of  that 
nocturnal  conflict.  Brunhild  is  informed  that  it  was 
Siegfried,  and  not  Giinther,  who  overcame  her  virgin 
resistance,  and  is  shown  the  ring  abstracted  from  her 
finger  on  that  occasion,  in  confirmation  of  the  fact. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  manners  of  the  time,  that  when 
Siegfried  heard  of  his  wife's  indiscretion  he  punished 
her  blabbing  with  corporal  chastisement,  which  she  after- 
ward naively  confesses,  and  seems  to  consider  as  perfectly 
in  order : — 

"  '  My  fault,'  pursued  she  sadly, 
'  Good  cause  had  I  to  rue ; 
I  for  it  have  far'd  badly,  — 
He  beat  me  black  and  blue. 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  39 

Such  mischief-making  tattle 

His  patience  could  not  brook, 
And  for  it  ample  vengeance 

On  my  poor  limbs  he  took.'  " 

That  Brunhild  should  thenceforth  study  to  revenge 
the  double  insult  inflicted  by  the  hands  of  Siegfried 
and  the  tongue  of  Kriemhild,  was  Inevitable.  It  was  a 
question  not  of  purpose,  but  of  means.  Giinther  was 
Siegfried's  friend,  and  too  deeply  his  debtor  to  be  easily- 
drawn  into  any  plot  which  aimed  at  his  destruction. 
But  Brunhild,  although  she  no  longer  attempted  to  gov- 
ern her  husband  by  strength  of  arm,  was  able  still,  as 
the  stronger  nature,  to  overrule  his  weak  will ;  and  at  last 
she  persuaded  him,  partly  by  representation  of  her  own 
wrongs,  and  partly  by  the  lure  of  the  vast  treasure  of 
the  Nibelungenhort,  which  in  case  of  Siegfried's  death 
would  come  into  his  possession,  to  give  his  aid  to  a 
scheme  by  which  the  unsuspecting  hero  was  to  be  en- 
trapped, and  either  slain  in  battle  or  privily  made  way 
with.  A  spurious  message  was  brought  to  the  court 
purporting  to  be  a  threat  of  invasion  from  his  old  ene- 
mies, Ludger  and  Ludgast.  Siegfried,  as  had  been 
foreseen,  volunteered  to  meet  and  repel  the  invaders; 
and  an  expedition  was  organized  for  that  purpose. 
Meanwhile  the  terrible  Hagen,  the  willing  instrument 
of  Brunhild's  revenge,  contrived  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  Kriemhild,  and  under  pretext  of  being  his  protec- 
tor in  battle,  wormed  from  her  the  secret  of  Siegfried's 
weak  spot.  He  was  invulnerable  except  in  the  one 
small  place  between  the  shoulders.  Kriemhild  en- 
gages, in  order  to  guide  Hagen  in  his  office  of  protector, 
to  indicate  the  spot  by  a  slight  mark  on  Siegfried's  gar- 
ment.    That  fatal  mark,  a  small  cross,  was  all  that  the 


40  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

traitor  required  to  accomplish  his  own  and  his  mistress's 
revenge. 

On  their  way  to  the  battlefield,  by  Hagen's  con- 
trivance, they  meet  two  men  who  had  received  their 
instructions  and  professed  to  be  messengers  from  Lud- 
ger,  stating  that  he  had  abandoned  his  hostile  intentions, 
and  desired  to  be  at  peace  with  the  Burgundians.  So 
the  party  returned  to  Worms.  The  pretence  of  a  war 
with  Ludger  had  answered  its  purpose  in  frightening 
Kriemhild,  and  thus  inducing  her  to  disclose  the  secret 
which  placed  her  husband  in  the  power  of  his  enemies. 
Gtinther  next,  at  the  instigation  of  Brunhild,  proposed 
a  grand  hunting-party  in  the  Odenwald.  Kriemhild, 
in  whose  breast  a  dreadful  presentiment  of  treason  had 
arisen,  vainly  endeavored  to  dissuade  Siegfried  from  ac- 
companying it.  He  goes,  and,  as  usual,  plays  the  fore- 
most part.  The  thirsty  huntsmen  stoop  to  drink  of  a  little 
stream.  Hagen  watches  his  chance,  and  when  Siegfried 
in  his  turn  prostrates  himself  to  partake  of  the  refresh- 
ment, transfixes  him  with  a  boar-spear  in  the  vulnerable 
spot  of  which  he  had  learned  the  secret. 

*'  So  the  lord  of  Kriemhild 

Among  the  flow 'rets  fell, 
From  the  wound  fresh  gushing 

His  heart's  blood  fast  did  well. 
Then  thus  amid  his  tortures, 

E'en  with  his  failing  breath, 
The  false  friends  he  upbraided 

Who  had  contriv'd  his  death. 
Thus  spake  the  deadly  wounded: 

'  Ay,  cowards,  false  as  hell! 
To  you  I  still  was  faithful, 

I  serv'd  you  long  and  well. 
But  what  boots  all  ?  for  guerdon 

Treason  and  death  I've  won ; 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  41 

By  your  friend,  vile  traitors, 

Foully  you  have  done ! 
Whoever  shall  hereafter 

From  your  loins  be  born, 
Shall  take  from  such  vile  fathers 

A  heritage  of  scorn. 
On  me  ye  have  wreak'd  malice 

Where  gratitude  was  due : 
With  shame  shall  ye  be  banish'd 

By  all  good  knights  and  true.'  " 

The  king,  who  had  sanctioned,  not  instigated,  the 
cruel  deed,  might  repent  the  treachery  perpetrated  on 
a  trusting  guest  and  benefactor;  but  the  dark  soul  of 
Hagen  knew  neither  pity  nor  remorse.  By  his  advice, 
to  consummate  his  vengeance,  the  hero's  body  was  laid 
at  dead  of  night  before  the  door  of  Kriemhild's  dwell- 
ing. It  was  the  first  thing  which  she  beheld  when  she 
sallied  forth  in  the  morning  to  early  Mass. 

The  lament  for  Siegfried,  the  gorgeous  exequies,  the 
one  hundred  Masses,  the  three  days'  and  three  nights' 
watching  of  the  dead,  are  the  theme  of  the  next  canto. 
In  this  connection  we  have  an  illustration  of  the  antiq- 
uity of  the  popular  superstition  that  the  body  of  a  mur- 
dered man  will  bleed  at  the  approach  of  the  murderer. 

After  a  widowhood  of  thirteen  years,  during  which  the 
injured  queen  never  ceased  to  lament  her  murdered 
husband,  there  came  a  message  from  Etzel,  king  of  the 
Huns,  then  mourning  the  loss  of  his  wife  Hecla,  solicit- 
ing the  hand  of  Kriemhild  in  marriage.  The  second 
book  —  or  shall  we  say  the  second  poem  —  begins  with 
the  recommendation  of  this  alliance  to  King  Etzel  by 
his  courtiers.  He  doubts  if  she  will  accept  a  heathen 
for  her  husband.  This  circumstance  did  seem  an  objec- 
tion when  the  proposal  was  made  to  Kriemhild,  but  was 


42  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

overruled  by  Riidiger,  Margrave  of  Bechlaren,King  Etzel's 
envoy  on  this  occasion,  on  the  ground  that  Etzel,  though 
not  a  Christian  at  that  precise  moment,  had  been  one 
formerly  for  a  little  while. 

Perhaps  if  she  had  seen  her  suitor  before  accepting 
his  offer,  another  objection  might  have  been  felt,  if  not 
confessed.  By  King  Etzel  is  meant  the  famous  Attila, 
the  savage  warrior  of  the  fifth  century,  whom  the  Gothic 
historian  Jornandes  describes  as  a  monster  of  ugliness  ; 
of  low  stature,  big  misshapen  head,  and  the  characteris- 
tic features  of  the  Tartar,  —  broad  flat  nose  and  small 
deep-sunk  eyes.  But  the  offer  was  accepted  in  spite  of 
the  strenuous  efforts  of  Hagen  to  prevent  it ;  and  Kriem- 
hild  travelled  in  state,  under  conduct  of  Riidiger,  through 
Bavaria  and  Austria,  to  the  court  of  the  terrible  Hun, 
whose  sway  extended  from  France  to  China,  and  whom 
Christendom  feared  as  the  scourge  of  God. 

She  had  lived  thirteen  years  the  wife  of  Attila,  twenty- 
three  had  elapsed  since  Siegfried's  death,  during  all 
which  time  she  had  nursed  her  grief  and  her  wrath. 
Now  when,  according  to  the  dates  incidentally  given  in 
the  poem,  she  must  have  been  at  least  fifty  years  old, 
she  resolved  to  execute  her  long-cherished  scheme  of 
revenge  for  the  murder  of  her  first  love.  To  this  end 
she  persuaded  her  husband  to  send  messengers  to  Bur- 
gundy with  an  invitation  to  her  brothers  and  their  court 
to  visit  her  and  attend  a  festival  in  Hungary.  Hagen, 
mistrusting  her  motive  and  foreseeing  evil,  is  strongly 
opposed  to  the  expedition,  but  resolves  to  accompany  the 
royal  party  when  taunted  by  Gieseler  with  fears  for  his 
personal  safety.  He,  however,  persuades  Giinther  to 
take  with  them  a  following  of  a  thousand  good  knights 
and  nine  thousand  yeomen  by  way  of  protection.    When 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  43 

this  army  reaches  the  Danube,  there  are  no  means  of 
crossing  at  the  point  where  they  strike  the  river ;  and 
Hagen,  who  went  off  alone  in  search  of  a  ferry  or  ford, 
encounters  a  party  of  water-nymphs,  who  predict  the 
destruction  of  the  entire  host. 

Undismayed  by  this  prediction,  he  continues  his  quest, 
finds  a  ferryman  at  last,  hails  him  under  a  feigned  name, 
and  asks  to  be  put  across  the  river.  The  ferryman,  be- 
lieving him  to  be  the  person  named,  —  a  friend  of  Elsy, 
the  lord  of  that  district, —  comes  at  his  call,  but  when  he 
reaches  the  shore  and  discovers  his  mistake,  refuses  to 
serve.  A  quarrel  ensues,  in  which  the  boatman  is  killed ; 
and  Hagen,  equal  to  every  emergency,  manages  to  bring 
the  unwieldy  vessel  to  the  place  where  Giinther  and  his 
followers  are  encamped,  and  to  row  them  across  the 
river. 

No  sooner  was  the  river  crossed  than  Hagen,  to  the 
utter  surprise  and  dismay  of  his  companions,  broke  the 
ferry-boat  in  pieces,  and  sent  the  fragments  down  the 
stream.  "  How  shall  we  cross  on  our  return  from  Hun- 
gary ?  "  they  asked.  "  We  shall  not  return,"  was  the 
stern  reply ;  "  and  this  is  to  prevent  any  cowards  among 
us  from  attempting  to  escape  their  doom." 

At  the  court  of  Attila  and  Kriemhild,  the  Burgun- 
dians  are  received  with  the  royal  pomp  befitting  such 
royal  guests.  Their  quarters  are  assigned  to  them  ;  the 
feast  is  prepared.  And  now  the  epic  tragedy  hastens  on  U 
to  the  dira-ConsumniaBonforesha^wedTnrtEe  opening^ 
stanzas,  and  initiated  by  the  quarrel  of  two  women  whose 
jealousj^^oves^ore  fatal  to  their  countrymen  than  the 
wrath  of  Achilles  to  the  Greeks.  Thenceforth  the  story 
is  written  in  blood, — a  story  in  which  hatred  and  despair 
transcend  the  ordinary  limits  of  mortal  passion;  in  which 


44  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

insatiate  ferocity  uncovers  all  the  hells  of  human  nature, 
and  carnage  in  its  utter  ruthlessness  becomes  sublime.      // 

The  inexorable  Kriemhild,  who  for  so  many  years  has 
nursed  her  impotent  wrath  against  the  slayer  of  Sieg- 
fried, has  her  enemy  now,  as  she  fancies,  in  her  power. 
Her  vengeance  aims  only  at  the  death  of  Hagen;  but 
to  accomplish  that  end,  when  other  means  fail,  she  is 
willing  to  sacrifice  her  three  brothers  and  all  her  kin- 
dred and  all  her  people.  Her  first  attempt  was  made 
when  Hagen  and  his  friend  Fqlker  the  minstrel,  as 
strong  and  ferocious  as  himself,  were  discovered  in  close 
conference  with  each  other  apart  from  their  comrades. 
She  had  moved  the  compassion  of  her  attendants  by  the 
tale  of  her  wrongs,  and  sixty  knights  volunteered  to  take 
the  life  of  Hagen  on  the  spot. 

By  the  advice  of  Kriemhild  the  number  was  increased 
to  four  hundred.  Such  a  squadron,  well  armed  and 
weaponed,  might  be  supposed  to  be  a  match  for  two, 
however  gigantic  their  strength  or  redoubtable  their 
prowess.  Kriemhild  thought  so,  and  putting  on  her 
crown,  she  went  thus  accompanied  to  confront  her 
enemy,  sure  of  her  revenge. 

Folker,  seeing  her  approach,  suggested  to  Hagen  that 
they  should  rise,  since  after  all  she  was  a  queen,  and  was 
entitled  to  that  respect.  "No,"  said  Hagen,  "they  would 
think-  we  were  afraid.'*  He  remained  sitting,  and  across 
his  knees,  the  more  to  spite  her,  he  held  the  sword  he 
had  stolen  from  Siegfried,  the  wondrous  Balmung.  She 
urges  her  party  to  fall  upon  the  two ;  but  they  stood, 
eying  the  two  strangers  as  huntsmen  look  upon  some 
wild  monster  of  the  forest.  Four  hundred  against  two, 
and  not  one  of  the  four  hundred  ventured  to  lead  on  the 
attack ! 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED,  45 

Foiled  in  that  attempt,  Kriemhild  next  sent  a  company 
of  her  warriors  to  the  hall  where  the  Bargundians  were 
lodged,  with  orders  to  slay  her  enemy  in  his  sleep.  But 
Hagen  and  Folker  were  keeping  watch  at  the  door  of 
the  hall,  and  the  intruders,  on  seeing  them,  immediately 
dispersed. 

A  tournament  is  held,  followed  by  a  grand  feast,  whose 
brief  merriment  goes  out  in  savage  wrath  and  slaughtei\_ 
Queen  Kriemhild  had  bribed  her  husband's  liegeman 
Bloedel  to  make  another  attempt  on  Hagen' s  life  ;  but 
instead  of  seeking  him  in  the  royal  assembly  where  he 
was  feasting  with  Giinther  and  his  host,  the  misguided 
emissary  took  his  followers  to  the  quarters  where  the 
yeomen  held  their  carouse,  and  there  found  Dankwart, 
Hagen' s  brother,  who,  having  been  secretly  apprised  of 
the  plot,  was  prepared,  and  when  assaulted  by  Bloedel 
killed  him  with  a  single  stroke  of  the  sword.  Thereupon 
thecal]  was  attacked  by  a  body  of  infuriated  Huns ;  the 
Burgundians,  both  knights  and  yeomen,  massacred. 
Dankwart  alone  escaping,  forces  his  way  through  the 
mob  of  the  enemy.  He  reaches  the  palace,  and  enter- 
ing the  banqueting  hall  reports  the  catastrophe  to  his 
countrymen.  It  was  just  as  young  Ortlieb,  the  child  of 
Attila  and  Kriemhild,  was  presented  to  the  assembly  as 
the  heir  of  the  crown.  When  Hagen  heard  the  tidings, 
he  exclaimed,  with  horrible  irony,  — 

"  Now,  then,  let 's  drink  to  friendship; 
King's  wine  shall  quench  our  thirst, 
And  the  young  prince  of  Hungary 
Himself  shall  pledge  us  first." 

So  saying,  hejiilled  the  child  and  threw  its  head  into 
the  mother's  lap.  With  that  ghastly  act  a  fearful  tumult 
arose.     Etzel  and  his  queen,  Biidiger  and  one  or  two 


46  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

others,  were  permitted  to  leave  the  hall ;  then,  while  the 
doors  were  guarded  by  Folker  and  Dankwart,  the  rest  of 
the  Huns  were  massacred  by  the  Burgundians,  and  their 
bodies  thrown  into  the  court  below.  But  a  new  band, 
composed  of  Danes  and  Thuringians,  pressed  forward  to 
avenge  the  death  of  Iring,  who  had  challenged  Hagen 
and  fallen  by  his  hand.  Folker  advises  his  people  to 
give  way  and  suffer  them  to  enter  the  hall.  Once  in- 
side, and  matched  with  the  Rhenish  champions,  they  are 
slaughtered  to  a  man.  And  now  the  victors,  utterly  ex- 
hausted, longed  for  rest.  The  hall  was  filled  with  the 
dead ;  beleaguered  by  the  enemy  without,  there  was  no 
escape  ;  they  were  prisoners  amid  the  carnage  them- 
selves had  made  ;  if  they  sat  at  all,  they  must  sit  on  the 
bodies  of  their  victims. 

A  parley  was  held  with  the  king  and  queen,  and  de- 
liverance promised  to  all  but  Hagen,  on  condition  that 
he,  the  chief  offender,  should  be  given  up.  This  the 
princes  declined  to  do,  preferring  any  fate  to  what  they 
regarded  as  an  act  of  foul  treachery  to  their  comrade. 

Kriemhild,  when  her  terms  were  rejected,  gave  orders 
to  set  the  building  on  fire,  and  a  horrible  scene  ensued. 
The  warriors,  familiar  with  the  face  of  death,  as  envis- 
aged in  the  heat  of  action,  were  now  to  encounter  it  in 
the  way  of  passive  endurance,  driven  into  a  strait  where 
sword  and  helmet  were  of  no  avail.  The  hall,  protected 
by  walls  of  stone  and  vaulted  roof,  was  not  consumed  ; 
the  warriors  did  not  perish,  but  suffered  such  torture 
from  the  heat  and  the  thirst  engendered  by  it  that  they 
were  fain  to  cool  their  parched  throats  with  the  blood 
of  the  slain. 

Want  of  space  compels  me  to  omit  the  scenes  which 
ensue.     Gtinther  and  Hagen,  after  a  succession  of  in- 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED.  47 

credible  atrocities  and  the  slaughter  of  all  their  country- 
men, are  delivered  bound  into  the  hands  of  Kriemhild. 
Her  brother  she  causes  to  be  beheaded  in  prison,  pre- 
sents the  severed  head  to  Hagen,  and  then  despatches 
him  also  with  the  sword  Balmung  which  he  had  stolen 
from  Siegfried. 

But  the  queen's  triumph  was  the  parting  flash  that 
ended  her  own  tempestuous  life.  Incensed  and  horror- 
struck  that  so  brave  a  warrior  should  have  perished  by 
the  hand  of  a  woman,  — 

*'  Hildebrand,  the  aged, 

Fierce  on  Kriemhild  sprung; 
To  the  death  he  smote  her 

As  his  sword  he  swung. 
Sudden  and  remorseless 

He  his  wrath  did  wreak. 
What  could  then  avail  her,  — 

The  woman's  thrilling  shriek? 

"  There  now  the  dreary  corpses 

Stretch 'd  all  around  were  seen. 
There  lay  hewn  in  pieces 

The  fair  and  noble  queen. 
Sir  Dietrich  and  King  Etzel  — 

Their  tears  began  to  start ; 
For  kinsmen  and  for  vassals 

Each  sorrow'd  in  his  heart. 

"  The  mighty  and  the  noble 

Lay  there  together  dead ; 
For  this  had  all  the  people 

Dole  and  drearihead. 
The  feast  of  royal  Etzel 

Was  thus  shut  up  in  woe. 
Pain  in  the  steps  of  pleasure 

Treads  ever  here  below." 


48  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


CHAPTER    lY. 

COMPARISON   OF   THE   NIBELUNGENLIED   WITH   THE   ILIAD. 

A  COMPARISON  of  the  Nibelungenlied  with  the 
■^-^  Iliad  is  one  which  naturally  suggests  itself  to 
readers  familiar  with  both  poems.  The  two  have  some 
features  in  common,  and  there  is  much  in  which  they 
differ.  They  resemble  each  other  in  their  genesis,  in 
the  uncertainty  of  their  authorship,  in  the  evidence  of 
modifications  which  each  must  have  undergone  before 
assuming  its  present  shape.  They  resemble  each  other 
in  their  mixture  of  the  fabulous  with  the  historical,  or 
with  historic  reminiscence.  The  hero  in  each  poem  is 
invulnerable  except  iii  one  particular  spot.  The  Tarn- 
kappe  or  cloud-cloak  of  Siegfried  is  paralleled  by  the 
cloud  with  which  the  deities  of  Olympus  make  their 
proteges  invisible  when  overmatched  by  the  enemy. 
The  fabulous  is  most  predominant  in  the  Iliad.  Not 
anticipating  the  Horatian  maxim,  it  abounds  in  deus- 
ex-machina  devices  conveniently  interposed  where  natu- 
ral agencies  are  inadequate  to  accomplish  the  desired 
end.  Such  devices  are  not  resorted  to  in  the  Nibelungen. 
There  the  agencies,  if  we  except  the  mythical  belongings 
of  Siegfried  and  the  mermaids  encountered  by  Hagen, 
are  all  natural  and  human. 

The  Iliad  exhibits  a  firmer  geographical  conscious- 
ness, a  knowledge  of  localities,  which  is  still  more  con- 
spicuous in  the  Odyssey.     The  Nibelungen  knows  with 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED  AND   THE  ILIAD.       49 

geographical  certainty  only  the  two  rivers,  the  Rhine 
and  the  Danube,  and  the  city  of  Worms.  But  the  latter 
poem  exhibits  that  feeling  for  nature,  for  inland  nature, 
which  is  foreign  to  the  seafaring  Greek.  The  hunting- 
scene  in  which  Siegfried  is  treacherously  slain,  breathes 
that  intense  sympathy  with  woodland  aspects  and  forest 
life  which  marks  the  Germanic  genius,  and  which  char- 
acterizes the  modern  romantic  spirit  as  contrasted  with 
the  ancient  classic.  ^ 

In  both  poems  woman  is  the  prime  motive ;  but  in  the 
Greek  it  is  woman  as  passive  occasion,  in  the  German 
it  is  woman  as  active  force.  The  two  poems  resemble 
each  other  in  the  impersonality  of  their  respective  au- 
thors. Both  are  prevailingly  objective,  realistic ;  but  the 
Greek  surpasses  the  German  in  minuteness  of  detail  and 
elaborate  comparison.  Every  reader  of  Homer  knows 
how  fond  and  circumstantial  are  all  his  descriptions. 
He  is  not  content  to  say  of  a  warrior  struck  down  in 
battle,  that  he  fell  like  a  forest-tree  hewn  by  the  wood- 
man's axe.  He  knows  no  such  generalities ;  he  does  not 
say  tree,  but  gives  the  species.  The  son  of  Anthemion 
falls  like  a  poplar  which  has  sprung  up  smooth  in  the 
watery  region  of  a  great  marsh,  and  whose  branches 
have  grown  to  the  very  top,  which  some  fabricator  of 
chariots  cuts  down  with  his  glittering  iron  that  he  may 
bend  the  curve  of  the  wheel  for  an  elegant  chariot,  and 
which  now  lies  seasoning  by  the  river's  side.  There  is 
nothing  of  this  circumstantiality  in  the  Nibelungen ;  the 
movement  of  the  poem  is  too  impetuous  for  such  details. 
Siegfried  coloring  at  the  sight  of  Kriemhild  is  likened 
to  a  glowing  figure  in  an  illuminated  manuscript,  por- 
trayed by  the  cunning  hand  of  a  master.  There  the 
description  stops;  but  when  Menelaos  in  the  Iliad  is 

4 


50  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

wounded  by  the  arrow  of  Pandaros,  we  read  that  the 
purple  blood  which  flows  from  the  wound  is  as  when 
some  Mseonian  or  Carian  woman  has  stained  with  scar- 
let the  ivory  which  is  destined  to  ornament  the  head- 
piece of  a  horse;  and  it  lies  in  her  bower,  desired  by 
many  riders,  but  reserved  for  the  decoration  of  the  king, 
alike  the  ornament  of  the  horse  and  the  glory  of  the 
rider.  Such,  "0  Menelaos,  appeared  thy  well-formed 
limb  stained  with  blood,  and  the  beautiful  ankle  beneath." 

Sometimes  these  minutiae,  if  one  may  venture  to  criti- 
cise Homer,  seem  out  of  place.  The  poet,  speaking  in 
his  own  name,  may  extend  his  comparisons  to  any  length ; 
but  the  personages  he  presents,  speaking  in  the  heat  of 
emotion,  become  unnatural  when  they  indulge  in  such 
particularities.  Hector  has  taxed  Paris  with  pusillanim- 
ity, and  upbraided  him  for  disgracing  his  nation.  Paris 
replies  to  Hector,  "  Your  heart  is  as  violent  as  an  axe." 
So  far  all  right ;  but  then  he  continues,  an  axe  "  which 
pierces  the  wood  wielded  by  a  man  who  with  art  hews 
timber  for  a  ship."  Did  people  in  the  Homeric  time  talk 
in  that  fashion  ?  Did  they  in  the  midst  of  a  hot  discus- 
sion go  off  on  a  side-track  of  incidental  suggestion  ?  If 
so,  they  differed  from  people  now-a-days.  We  have  a 
phrase,  "  savage  as  a  meat-axe,"  but  those  who  employ  it 
do  not  specify  the  joints  which  that  implement  is  used  to 
cleave  and  the  customers  for  whom  they  are  destined. 

Both  poems  delight  in  acts  of  valor ;  the  main  topic  of 
both  is  conflict  in  arms,  but  the  spirit  of  the  Iliad  is 
more  humane  than  that  of  the  Nibelungen.  If  it  sings 
the  fierce  encounter  and  describes  the  wounds  which  are 
given  and  taken,  it  does  not,  like  its  German  counter- 
part, dabble  in  blood  and  revel  in  carnage.  There  is 
very  little  tenderness  and  very  little  of  domestic  affection 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED  AND  THE  ILIAD.       51 

exhibited  by  the  characters  of  the  Nibelungen.  The 
parting  scene  between  Siegfried  and  Kriemhild,  her  en- 
treaties that  he  will  not  join  the  hunting-party  of  whose 
issue  she  has  such  gloomy  forebodings,  are  very  touch- 
ing ;  but  how  much  more  so  the  parting  between  Hector 
and  Andromache  at  the  Skaian  gate,  and  the  tenderness 
of  the  warrior  for  their  infant  child  !  In  magnanimity, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  agreement  of  Hagen  and  Folker 
not  to  fight  against  Riidiger,  their  former  host,  presents 
a  fit  parallel  to  the  similar  agreement  between  Glaucus 
and  Diomed. 

The  Nibelungen,  on  the  whole,  has  greater  unity  and 
continuity ;  and  therefore,  whatever  may  have  been  the 
history  of  its  composition,  whatever  fitting  and  piecing 
there  may  have  been,  whatever  compacting  of  separate 
parts  to  make  out  the  thirty-nine  "  Adventures,"  taken 
as  it  stands  it  is  the  more  strictly  epic  of  the  two.  It 
begins  with  Kriemhild  and  ends  with  Kriemhild ;  begins 
with  representations  of  her  early  life  and  her  family  at 
Worms,  and  ends  with  her  and  their  destruction.  Its 
crowning  felicity  is  her  marriage  with  Siegfried ;  its  be- 
ginning of  woes,  the  assassination  of  her  husband ;  its 
tragicj^nclusion,  the  consequences  of  that  crime.  On 
the  contrary,  the  rhapsodies  of  the  Iliad,  whose  number 
is  made  to  correspond  with  that  of  the  letters  of  the 
Greek  alphabet,  while  presenting  a  series  of  pictures  all 
connected,  it  is  true,  with  the  Trojan  war,  arrive  at  no 
fit  conclusion  and  form  no  rounded  whole. 

A  further  comparison  between  the  Nibelungen  and  the 
Iliad  is  suggested  by  the  social  conditions  they  respec- 
tively represent.  We  observe  in  the  Greek  poem,  as  I 
have  said,  a  predominance  of  the  supernatural.  The  war 
between  Achaians  and  Trojans  is  a  war  of  the  Olympian 


52  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

deities  as  well ;  they  are  constantly  interfering  in  the 
strife,  ranging  themselves  in  parties  for  and  against  the 
mortal  combatants.  Gods  and  goddesses  slip  down  to 
the  field  as  occasion  prompts ;  and  so  little  does  their 
godhead  avail  them,  that  not  only  Aphrodite  but  Ares 
himself,  the  god  of  war,  comes  to  grief  when,  descending 
to  the  aid  of  the  Trojans,  he  ventures  within  reach  of 
Diomed's  spear.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  Diomed's  valor 
is  the  preternatural  effect  of  Athene's  aid.  In  short,  we 
find  in  that  Homeric  world  a  religion  childishly  naive, 
but  thoroughly  grounded  in  popular  belief  and  inwrought 
with  all  the  habits  of  life. 

A  beautiful  piety  pervades  the  Iliad.  If  Menelaos 
taxes  Zeus  with  hardness  in  not  granting  his  prayer,  it 
is  only  a  proof  of  entire  faith  in  the  power  of  Zeus  to 
do  what  was  asked  if  so  disposed,  —  as  the  pious  cru- 
saders in  their  extremity  at  Antioch  charged  Christ  with 
ingratitude  in  letting  them  starve  who  were  doing  so 
much  for  him.  This  childlike  piety  is  wanting  in  the 
Nibelungen.  Religion  there  appears  but  incidentally, 
as  where  mention  is  made  of  Masses  at  Worms  and  at 
Etzel's  court.  There  is  nothing  like  the  personal  devout- 
ness  of  Homer's  heroes,  as  seen  for  example  in  Hector's 
prayer  for  his  child ;  and  the  Christian  faith  is  so  evi- 
dently at  variance  with  the  manners  of  the  people,  that 
one  sees  it  to  be  something  foreign,  a  recent  importation, 
—  or,  what  is  more  likely,  a  device  which  the  Christian 
author  or  redactor  saw  fit  to  graft  on  the  ancient  Saga. 

As  to  moral  qualities,  I  have  already  spoken  of  the 
milder  character  of  the  Greeks  as  contrasted  with  the 
ruthless  ferocity  of  the  Germans.  We  may  also  credit 
them  with  the  virtue,  or  at  least  with  the  practice,  of 
temperance.     When  Hector  declines  the  cup  proffered 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED  AND   THE  ILIAD.       53 

him  by  his  mother  for  fear  of  its  demoralizing  conse- 
queiices,^  we  may  suppose  him  to  represent  the  prevail- 
ing sentiment  of  the  Hellenic  people.  On  the  other 
hand,  they  made  little  account  of  female  chastity,  and 
seem  not  to  have  been  very  sensitive  on  the  subject  of 
conjugal  fidelity.  The  rape  of  Helen  was  a  predatory 
outrage  which  roused  the  ire  of  the  princes  against  its 
perpetrator  and  the  house  of  Priam,  but  did  not  degrade 
the  victim  in  the  estimation  of  her  countrymen.  Here 
the  Germans  exhibit  a  marked  superiority,  as  they  do 
in  true  respect  for  womankind.  Siegfried  takes  no  dis- 
loyal advantage  of  his  victory  in  that  nocturnal  encoun- 
ter with  Brunhild,  —  a  continence  undreamed  of  by  the 
Greeks  of  Homer's  time.  And  so  Brunhild's  physical 
prowess,  overmatching  all  masculine  adversaries,  typifies 
in  a  rude  way  the  estimation  and  high  position  accorded 
to  her  sex  by  the  German  races,  —  a  position  elsewhere 
unknown. 

In  the  quality  of  valor  I  think  it  will  not  be  disputed 
that  the  heroes  of  the  Nibelungen  far  excel  those  of  the 
Iliad.  Mr.  Mahaffy,  in  his  "  Social  Life  in  Greece,"  has 
satisfactorily  shown  that  the  vaunted  courage  of  the 
Homeric  chiefs  "  was  of  a  second-rate  order ; "  they  ran 
away  when  hardly  pressed,  and  cried  like  babies  when 
things  went  wrong. 

It  required,  as  we  have  seen,  the  miraculous  aid  of 
Pallas  to  screw  the  courage  of  Diomed  to  the  sticking- 
point  at  which  we  find  it  in  the  fifth  rhapsody.  And  the 
Iliad  exhibits  no  picture  of  valor  like  that  of  Hagen  and 
Folker  calmly  facing  and  defying  a  party  of  four  hun- 
dred warriors  urged  on  by  Kriemhild  to  seize  and  slay 
them. 

1  Iliad,  book  vi.,  v.  263. 


54  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

A  hateful  character  is  Hagen,  a  monster  of  treachery 
and  cruelty  unequalled  by  Homer's  worst.  Yet  even  in 
.Hagen,  the  murderer  of  Siegfried,  we  see  personified  one 
virtue  characteristic  of  those  old  Germans,  —  the  virtue 
of  loyalty.  Utter,  unswerving,  uncalculating,  unconquer- 
able loyalty  to  sovereign  and  chief,  —  loyalty  in  good 
and  in  evil,  loyalty  that  hesitates  at  no  danger,  shuns  no 
sacrifice,  and  shrinks  from  no  crime,  —  is  the  source 
and,  according  to  the  judgment  of  his  time,  the  justifi- 
cation of  all  that  is  most  repulsive  in  that  devoted,  faith- 
ful, execrable  man.  >' 

On  the  whole,  a  fair  comparison  of  the  two  races,  as 
they  appear  respectively  in  their  native  poems,  will  ac- 
cord to  the  German  the  palm  in  respect  of  moral  worth. 
And  the  virtues  in  which  they  excel  are  precisely  those 
which  are  most  essential  to  national  stability  and  social 
well-being.  So  the  event  has  proved.  Greece  has  given 
to  the  world  the  purest  models  in  poetry  and  art.  She 
still  lives,  and  will  live  forever,  in  the  beautiful  forms 
which  her  plastic  genius  called  into  being.  She  lives  in 
the  "tale  of  Troy  divine,"  in  the  masterpieces  of  her 
tragic  Muse ;  and  she  will  live  forever  in  the  wisdom  of 
her  schools. 

•'  Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon 
As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone." 

Each  succeeding  generation  gives  us  a  new  translation 
of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  The  plays  of  Sophokles  are 
reproduced  in  the  theatres  of  Oxford  and  Berlin  and 
Cambridge.  Plato  still  taxes  the  learning  of  the  scho- 
liast, and  challenges  the  acumen  of  the  metaphysician. 
But  when  it  is  asked  what  has  become  of  the  people  who 
led  and  lead  the  world  in  philosophy  and  art,  we  can 
only  point  to  an  insignificant  territory  newly  wrested 


THE  NIBELUNGENLIED  AND    THE  ILIAD.       ^^ 

from  the  grasp  of  the  once  despised  Scythian,  and  des- 
tined never,  it  is  likely,  to  become  a  ruling  power  among 
the  nations. 

But  those  German  races  ?  Greece  had  already  retro- 
graded from  her  place  in  the  van  of  human  progress,  she 
had  delivered  up  the  torch  of  civilization  into  stranger 
hands,  when  the  ancestors  of  those  Burgundians  who 
figure  in  the  Nibelungen  were  fortifying  their  burghs 
against  the  savages  of  the  Vistula,  and  when  the  Saxons 
and  the  Alemanni,  the  Franks  and  the  rest  were  chasing 
the  aurochs  and  the  elk  in  the  Odenwald  and  the  Black 
Forest. 

When  they  first  appear  on  the  stage  of  history  it  is  as 
pestilent  invaders  of  Italian  soil.  The  sagacity  of  Caesar 
saw  in  them  a  cloud  of  danger  to  the  Roman  State,  which 
he  labored  to  dispel.  But  what  prophet  in  the  time  of 
Caesar,  or  even  of  Constantine,  would  have  ventured  to 
predict  that  these  barbarians  would  one  day  overshadow 
with  their  Kaisermacht  the  old  Roman  world  ?  Or,  that 
in  the  fulness  of  time,  through  their  German,  Anglo- 
Saxon,  Anglo-American  descendants,  with  a  foothold  in 
every  continent,  they  would  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth, 
and  sway  the  destinies  of  human  kind  ? 


56  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


CHAPTER   Y. 

GUDRUN  AND  OTHER  MEDIEVAL  POEMS. 

THE  second  great  epic  of  German  mediaeval  literature 
is  Gudrun,  a  poetic  embodiment  of  certain  maritime 
legends,  gathered  chiefly  from  countries  bordering  on 
the  German  ocean.  As  the  Nibelungenlied  suggested  a 
comparison  with  the  Iliad,  so  Gudrun  has  been  likened 
to  the  Odyssey.  The  analogy  is  fainter  in  the  case  of  the 
latter  poem,  and  seems  to  rest  mainly  in  a  certain  simi- 
larity between  the  fate  of  its  heroine,  separated  from  her 
betrothed,  and  that  of  Penelope  exposed  to  the  importu- 
nity of  the  fiv7j(TT-rjp6<;  in  the  absence  of  her  husband. 

The  poem  consists  of  three  parts.  In  the  first  we  have 
the  story  of  Hagen,  son  of  an  Irish  king,  who  has  been 
carried  by  a  griffin  to  a  distant  island,  where  he  meets 
with  Hilde,  an  Indian  princess,  who  has  been  conveyed 
to  the  same  island  in  the  same  way.  The  two  are  re- 
leased from  their  captivity  by  a  vessel  which  touches  at 
the  island  and  takes  them  to  Ireland,  where  they  are 
married  when  Hagen,  after  the  death  of  his  father,  suc- 
ceeds to  the  throne.  The  offspring  of  this  marriage  is  a 
daughter  named  after  lier  mother,  Hilde ;  and  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  poem  relates  her  abduction  by  -Horaiit, 
a  celebrated  singer  sent  to  Ireland  for  the  purpose  by 
Hetel,  king  of  Friesland.  Horant  captivates  her  by  the 
magic  of  his  song;  she  accompanies  him  to  Friesland 
and  becomes  the  bride  of  Hetel.     The  third  part,  which 


GUDRUN  AND   OTHER  MEDIEVAL  POEMS.     57 

gives  the  name  to  the  whole,  is  the  story  of  the  princess 
Gudrun,  the  daughter  of  Hetel  and  Hilde.  She  is  sought 
in  marriage  by  Hartmut,  son  of  Ludwig  a  Norman 
king,  but  rejects  his  suit  in  favor  of  Herwig,  son  of  the 
king  of  Zealand.  They  are  betrothed,  but  before  the 
marriage  can  take  place  Hartmut,  aided  by  his  father, 
carries  her  away  by  force.  As  they  approach  the  coast 
of  Normandy,  and  come  within  sight  of  the  towered  city, 
the  old  king  Ludwig  says  to  her :  "  See  !  all  this  will  be 
yours  if  you  will  marry  my  son."  She  replies  that  death 
shall  be  her  spouse  before  she  will  break  her  troth  with 
Herwig.  Whereupon  the  enraged  king  seizes  her  by  the 
hair  and  flings  her  overboard.  Hartmut  springs  after 
and  with  difficulty  rescues  her.  When  they  reach  the 
palace,  the  queen  Gerlinde  receives  her  kindly  at  first, 
but  on  her  obstinate  refusal  to  wed  Hartmut  treats 
her  with  great  cruelty.  A  born  princess,  she  is  com- 
pelled to  do  menial  service ;  she  is  the  drudge  of  the 
house,  and  is  sent  to  wash  linen  by  the  seaside. 

One  day,  after  years  have  passed,  she  is  engaged  in 
this  task  when  a  vessel  approaches  the  shore.  It  proves 
to  be  one  of  a  fleet  commanded  by  Herwig  and  her 
brother  Ortwein,  who  have  organized  an  expedition  to 
avenge  her  and  their  own  wrongs  on  the  Normans,  —  so 
long  time  had  been  required  to  collect  a  force  sufficieiit 
to  cope  with  so  powerful  an  adversary !  Gudrun  and 
Hildburg,  her  companion  in  adversity,  are  hailed  from 
the  ship ;  inquiries  are  made,  in  the  course  of  which  a 
recognition  takes  place  between  the  two  lovers.  Herwig 
might  have  carried  away  Gudrun  at  once ;  but,  no !  he 
says  he  will  not  take  her  by  stealth ;  she  shall  be  the 
prize  of  his  victory  over  the  enemy !  That  night  his 
followers   surround   the   castle,   and   a  fearful   conflict 


58  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ensues.  King  Ludwig  falls  by  the  hand  of  Herwig; 
Gerlinde  is  also  slain,  having  first  in  her  rage  endeav- 
ored to  kill  Gudrun,  who  is  saved  by  Hartmut,  and  nobly 
but  vainly  intercedes  for  the  queen  her  oppressor.  The 
Normans  are  overcome,  Gudrun  marries  Herwig ;  her 
brother  Ortwein  weds  Ortrun,  the  sister  of  Hartmut; 
and  Hartmut,  who  has  behaved  nobly,  at  last  receives 
Hildburg. 

I  quote  from  Bayard  Taylor's  translation  the  descrip- 
tion of  Horant's  song  at  the  court  of  Hagen :  — 

"  Now  when  the  night  was  ending 

And  day  almost  begun, 
Horant  began  his  singing ; 

And  all  the  birds,  outdone, 
Were  silent  in  the  hedges 

Because  of  his  sweet  song. 
And  the  folk,  who  still  were  sleeping, 

When  they  heard  him  slept  not  long. 
Sweetly  to  them  it  sounded, 
•  .  So  loud  and  then  so  low. 

Lord  Hagen  woke  and  heard  it, 

And  Hagen's  wife  also. 
Forth  came  they  from  the  chamber 

Unto  the  balcony ; 
As  the  minstrel  wished,  it  happened. 

The  Princess,  pleased  was  she. 
The  daughter  of  wild  Hagen, 

And  her  maidens  first  and  least ; 
They  silent  sat  and  listened 

While  the  song  of  the  small  birds  ceased 
That  fluttered  around  the  castle. 

And  the  heroes  also  heard 
How  the  Danish  minstrel  chanted. 

Full  sweetly  the  souls  of  all  were  stirred; 
He  was  thanked  by  all  the  women. 

He  w^as  thanked  by  all  the  men. 
And  from  those  guests  of  Denmark, 

Out  spoke  Fruote  then: 


GUDRUN  AND   OTHER   MEDIEVAL  POEMS.     59 

'  Let  my  nephew  leave  his  singing,' 

The  bold  Fruote  said, 
*  To  whom  may  he  be  bringing 

This  uncouth  morning  serenade?' 
Then  answered  Hagen's  heroes, 

*  Sir,  let  us  know  your  mind; 
There  's  none  so  sick  and  suffering 

But  healing  he  must  find 
In  the  minstrel's  voice  that  soundeth 

From  his  mouth  so  sweet  and  true.' 
Said  the  king,  '  I  would  to  heaven 

That  I  myself  could  sing  thus  too. ' 
When  he  had  sung  three  measures, 

Sung  to  the  end  each  song, 
It  seemed  to  all  who  heard  him 

The  time  was  not  too  long; 
Nor  had  the  listeners  deemed  it 

A  hand-breadth  long  the  while. 
Though  he  had  kept  on  singing 

While  one  rode  may  be  a  thousand  mile." 

I  shall  not  undertake  to  discourse  in  detail  of  the 
poets  and  Minnesingers,  and  the  anonymous  poems  of 
this  period  of  German  literature,  extending  from  the 
eleventh  to  the  fourteenth  century.  I  can  only  indicate 
the  most  important  of  them.  Heinrich  von  Veldeke, 
author  of  the  "  Eneit "  (^AeneiJ)^  a  work  which  borrows 
its  material  from  Virgil,  and  in  which  Aeneas  is  repre- 
sented as  a  mediaeval  knight ;  Hartmann  von  Aue,  author 
of  "  Erec  und  Enite,"  of  "  Iwein,''  of  "  Gregory  of  the 
Rock,"  and  "  Der  arme  Heinrich ; "  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach,  author  of  "  Parzival "  and  "  Titurel ; "  Gottfried 
von  Strassburg,  author  of  "  Tristan  und  Isolde  ; "  Rudolf 
von  Ems,  author  of  "  Baarlam  und  Josaphat ; "  Konrad 
von  Wlirzburg,  remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  his  verse 
and  the  affluence  of  his  imagery  ;  Ktirenberg,  to  whom 
Fischer  ascribes  the  authorship  of  the  Nibelungen ;  and 


60  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Walther  of  the  Yogelweide,  the  most  eminent  of  the 
Minnesingers,  a  prot^g^  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  II. 
To  these  we  may  add  the  "  Reinhart  Fuchs  "  (Renard 
the  Fox)  of  Heinrich  dem  Glichesare,  the  typical  ex- 
ample of  what  is  called  the  Thier-epos,  or  fable  of  beasts. 
It  was  afterward  enlarged  by  Heinrich  von  Alkmar  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  and  translated  into  Low  German, 
with  the  title  "  Reinke  de  Fos."  In  this  recast  it  appears 
as  a  satire  on  the  clergy  and  the  secular  authorities  of 
the  time,  and  is  reproduced  in  Goethe's  "  Reineke  Fuchs." 
It  expresses  with  great  humor  a  kind  of  mediaeval  pessi- 
mism, showing  how  wicked  cunning  in  this  world  carries 
the  day  against  honor  and  truth. 

One  of  the  works  which  I  have  named,  the  "  Parzival," 
by  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  claims  special  notice  as, 
next  to  the  Nibelungen  and  the  Gudrun,  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  German  mediasval  poems. 

The.  subject-matter  is  derived  from  two  principal 
sources,  —  the  Celtic  traditions  of  King  Arthur  and  the 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table  (the  source  from  which 
Tennyson  has  drawn  his  "  Idyls  of  the  King  "),  and  the 
Spanish  Saga  of  the  "  Holy  Grail." 

The  order  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  of  whom 
Lancelot  of  the  Lake  is  the  most  celebrated,  was  said  to 
be  founded  by  King  Arthur  at  the  suggestion  of  the  en- 
chanter Merlin.  The  tradition,  which  has  no  ascer- 
tained historical  basis,  has  furnished  the  subjects  of 
countless  romances.  From  England  it  passed  over  to 
France,  and  thence  to  Germany. 

The  Holy  Grail,  or  San  Graal,  was,  according  to  the 
saga,  the  vessel  which  Jesus  used  at  the  Last  Supper, 
and  which  received  the  drops  of  blood  shed  on  the  cross. 
It  was  believed  to  be  endowed  with  miraculous  virtue. 


GUDRUN  AND   OTHER  MEDIEVAL  POEMS.     61 

Angels  were  said  to  have  had  charge  of  it  until  it  was 
delivered  to  Titurel,  a  king's  son,  who  built  a  tower  for 
its  preservation  at  Salvaterra,  in  Spain.  Titurel  estab- 
lished an  order  of  priestly  knights,  who  lived  secluded 
from  the  world,  and  whose  business  it  was  to  guard  the 
sacred  trust.  They  were  supposed  to  be  elect  of  God. 
The  tower  which  contained  the  Grail  was  situated  in 
the  midst  of  an  immense  forest,  and  no  one  without 
divine  aid  could  find  it.  If  by  divine  leading  a  knight 
arrived  at  the  place,  he  was  bound  to  inquire  after  the 
Grail  in  order  to  be  elected  one  of  its  guardians.  If  he 
was  too  indifferent  or  too  obtuse  to  make  such  inquiries, 
he  forfeited  that  high  distinction.  Such  forfeiture,  ac- 
cordingly, symbolized  want  of  interest  in  spiritual  things. 
The  Knights  of  the  Holy  Grail  constituted  a  spiritual 
order,  in  contrast  with  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table 
who  represented  the  glories  of  secular  chivalry. 

Tennyson,  in  his  poem  of  Sir  Galahad,  figures  a  knight- 
errant  in  pursuit  of  the  sacred  treasure  :  — 

*'  Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain  meres 
I  find  a  magic  bark ; 
I  leap  on  board,  no  helmsman  steers,  — 
I  float  till  all  is  dark. 

"  A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light! 

Three  angels  bear  the  holy  Grail; 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 
On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 

*'  Ah!  blessed  vision,  blood  of  God! 
My  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides, 
And,  starlike,  mingles  with  the  stars. 

*'  The  clouds  are  broken  in  the  sky, 
And  thro'  the  mountain  walls 
A  rolling  organ-harmony 

Swells  up  and  shakes  and  falls. 


62  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

*'  Then  move  the  trees,  the  copses  nod, 
Wings  flutter,  voices  hover  clear; 
'  Oh,  just  and  faithful  knight  of  God! 
Ride  on !  the  prize  is  near. ' 

"  So  pass  I  hostel,  hall,  and  grange, 

By  bridge  and  ford,  by  park  and  pale, 
All  armed  I  ride,  whate'er  betide, 
Until  I  find  the  Holy  Grail." 

Parzival  (in  English,  Percival)  is  the  son  of  Gamuret, 
who  was  treacherously  slain  in  one  of  the  crusades.  He 
was  brought  up  by  his  mother  Herzeleide  ("  heart-sorrow") 
in  the  seclusion  of  a  dense  forest,  that  he  might  hear 
nothing  of  war  and  feats  of  arms.  But  roaming  through 
the  forest  one  day,  when  arrived  at  mature  years,  he  en- 
counters a  company  of  knights  splendidly  equipped.  He 
attracts  their  notice,  is  questioned  by  them,  and  advised 
to  repair  to  the  court  of  Arthur.  The  hereditary  pas- 
sion for  military  adventure  is  aroused  in  him,  and  he  ex- 
presses an  intense  longing  to  become  a  knight.  The 
mother  is  alarmed,  she  endeavors  to  dissuade  him ;  but 
no  entreaties,  and  no  representation  of  the  dangers  and 
hardships  of  such  a  life  are  of  any  avail.  At  last,  when 
she  finds  him  inexorably  determined,  she  resorts  to  an 
artifice  which  she  hopes  will  result  in  discouraging  his 
zeal  and  defeating  his  intent.  Under  pretence  of  equip- 
ping him  for  his  journey  she  prepares  a  costume  which, 
unknown  to  him,  is  the  habit  worn  by  the  professional 
court-fools  of  the  time,  and  gives  him  all  sorts  of  false 
directions.  He  sets  forth,  and  after  a  series  of  striking 
adventures  arrives  at  the  court  of  King  Arthur,  then 
held  at  Nantes  in  France.  He  there  distinguishes  him- 
self by  chivalrous  exploits,  and  is  received  into  the  order 
of  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  In  that  character  he 
sets  forth  in  quest  of  adventures,  succeeds  in  freeing 


GUDRUN  AND   OTHER  MEDIEVAL  POEMS.     63 

from  her  captors  a  lady  named  Conduiramar,  whom  he 
marries,  and  finally  reaches  the  castle  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
where  his  uncle  Amfortas,  who  has  been  wounded  by  a 
poisoned  lance,  lies  confined,  awaiting  his  deliverance, 
which  was  to  take  place  whenever  a  strange  knight,  un- 
prompted, should  of  his  own  accord  inquire  after  the 
wonders  of  the  castle.  But,  unfortunately,  Parzival  had 
received  from  an  aged  knight,  Gurnemanz,  who  was  a 
master  of  etiquette  and  learned  in  the  customs  of  courts, 
the  counsel  not  to  ask  questions.  Mindful  of  this  ad- 
vice, he  neglects  at  the  decisive  moment  to  make  the 
necessary  inquiry,  which  would  have  put  him  in  posses- 
sion of  the  castle  and  its  treasure,  and  thus  by  his  stupid- 
ity misses  the  good  fortune.  Then  follows  a  period  of 
sore  trial  and  probation.  The  curse  which  follows  the 
slighting  of  the  Holy  Grail  pursues  him.  He  is  expelled 
from  the  circle  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  ;  for 
four  years  he  wanders  in  despair,  rebelling  against  God, 
until  at  last,  on  a  Good  Friday,  he  falls  in  with  a  pious 
hermit,  who  reconciles  him  with  God,  explains  to  him 
the  wonders  of  the  Holy  Grail,  and  reveals  to  him  that 
he  is  destined  to  become  the  king  of  the  castle.  Peni- 
tent and  encouraged,  he  enters  on  a  new  life.  In  suc- 
cessive combats  he  overcomes  the  secular  knighthood 
represented  by  Gawaine,  is  received  once  more  into 
the  brotherhood  of  the  Round  Table,  returns  to  the  cas- 
tle of  the  Grail,  delivers  his  uncle,  and  then,  having  been 
purified  by  suffering,  is  declared  worthy  to  become  king 
of  the  Holy  Grail  by  the  prophetess  who  had  formerly 
cursed  him. 

The  incidents  of  this  poem  are  borrowed  mainly  from 
the  ProveuQal,  but  the  German  poet  has  imported  into 
them  a  mystical  and  spiritual  significance.     Parzival's 


64  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

life-course  symbolizes  the  history  of  the  soul,  which  in 
its  endeavors  after  happiness  strays  and  errs,  for  a  time 
is  alienated  from  God  and  surrendered  to  evil,  but  finally, 
through  repentance  and  conquest  of  self  and  the  world, 
attains  to  the  supreme  good. 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  65 


CHAPTER  YL 

MARTIN   LUTHER. 

THE  sixteenth  century  consummated  the  schism  in 
European  polity  which  the  fifteenth  had  initiated ; 
it  separated  the  German  and  the  Latin  races  into  two 
distinct  households  of  faith.  When,  at  the  Council  of 
Constance  in  1414,  it  was  moved  and  carried  that  the 
delegates  should  vote  not  as  individuals  but  by  nations, 
each  nation  having  but  one  vote,  a  new  element  was  in- 
troduced into  the  ecclesiastical  polity  of  Europe,  —  the 
Protestant  element  of  nationality.  Until  then  the  Church 
in  the  unity  of  her  consciousness,  and  in  her  conscious 
unity,  had  taken  no  heed  of  national  distinctions.  Eu- 
rope was  ecclesiastically  one.  There  had  been  in  the 
view  of  the  Church  neither  German,  French,  nor  Eng- 
lish, but  one  Catholic  body,  with  Rome  for  its  head. 
Now  it  appeared  that  the  nation  had  become  a  reality 
and  a  power  in  the  Christian  world. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  this  Protestant  element  dis- 
engaged itself  still  further  from  the  ecclesiastical  whole ; 
it  asserted  its  independence  of  Roman  dictation.  Eu- 
rope was  cloven  in  twain ;  Catholic  in  the  Latin  races, 
and  mostly  Protestant  in  those  of  German  kin. 

At  the  head  of  this  movement  we  encounter  two  fig- 
ures, dissimilar  in  all  their  qualities  and  accidents, 
agreeing  only  in  their  anti-papal  determination  :  in 
England  a  monarch,  the  mighty  Tudor,  standing  on  his 

6 


ee  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

indomitable  will ;  in  Germany  a  college  professor,  stand- 
ing on  his  immovable  faith. 

Martin  Luther  was  born  on  the  10th  of  November, 
1483.  It  was  the  eve  of  a  great  revolution  in  human 
affairs.  Our  western  hemisphere  was  yet  hidden  from 
European  ken  behind  the  waves  of  the  Atlantic ;  but  in 
this  very  year  Columbus  made  his  first  application  to 
royal  power  for  material  aid  toward  the  realizing  of  his 
pregnant  dream,  which  nine  years  later  was  destined  to 
be  realized,  that  so  the  new  dispensation  of  Christianity 
impending  with  Luther's  birth  might  not  want  a  new 
world  for  its  unfolding. 

There  is  a  law  which  adapts  the  man  to  his  time. 
The  work  to  be  done  is  not  laid  on  a  chance  individual, 
but  from  the  foundation  of  the  world  the  man  was  found 
to  stand  just  there,  and  to  do  just  that.  The  opportunity 
does  not  make  the  man,  but  finds  him.  He  is  the  Provi- 
dential man.  All  the  past  is  in  him,  all  the  future  is  to 
come  from  him. 

The  saying  that  personality  is  the  lever  of  history 
was  never  more  fully  exemplified  in  any  man  than  in 
Luther.  A  sturdy  Saxon  nature,  Saxon  to  the  core ; 
reverent,  patient,  believing,  unsuspicious  ;  easily  led 
when  conscience  seconded  the  leading,  impossible  to 
drive  when  conscience  opposed.  It  is  noticeable  that 
great  reformers,  for  the  most  part,  have  stepped  into  the 
blazing  focus  of  their  time  out  of  comparative  obscurity. 
No  one  would  have  divined  in  Luther  before  the  age  of 
thirty  —  least  of  all  would  he  have  divined  in  himself  — 
the  leader  of  a  new  age,  the  founder  of  a  new  Church. 
His  boyhood  was  illustrated  by  no  especial  promise,  and 
his  school-days  were  burdened  with  the  usual  amount  of 
suffering  endured  by  the  boys  of  the  period  when  educa- 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  67 

tion  was  conceived  as  a  kind  of  rhabdomancy,  —  a  divin- 
ing and  eliciting  by  means  of  the  rod  the  hidden  virtue 
in  the  boyish  frame.  He  cannot  forget  in  after  life  that 
fifteen  times  in  one  day  the  rod  in  his  case  was  so  ap- 
plied. Graduated  at  Erfurt  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he 
undertakes  the  study  of  the  law  in  obedience  to  the 
vrishes  of  his  father,  but  is  irresistibly  driven  from  it  into 
theology ;  becomes  a  monk  of  the  order  of  Augustine, 
falls  into  deep  despondency  through  fears  for  the  welfare 
of  his  soul,  suffers  spiritual  agonies  in  the  contemplation 
of  eternal  doom,  but  finds  peace  at  last  in  the  doctrine  of 
forgiveness  by  free  grace,  —  a  doctrine  not  taught  by  his 
church,  but  learned  from  the  New  Testament,  then  al- 
most an  unknown  book,  of  which  he  had  found  a  copy  in 
the  library  of  the  University.  We  next  find  him  pro- 
moted to  a  chair  of  Philosophy  in  the  new  University  of 
Wittenberg,  sent  to  Rome  on  business  of  his  Order, 
amazed  to  find  the  capital  of  the  Church  a  sink  of  ini- 
quity, but  not  presuming  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  the  way 
of  reproof  ;  willing  to  fulfil  all  righteousness  by  mount- 
ing on  his  knees  the  steps  of  the  Santa  Scala,  —  in  the 
midst  of  which  performance  there  flashes  on  his  mind, 
as  a  rebuke  of  such  works,  the  saying,  "  The  just  shall 
live  by  faith."  Returning  to  Wittenberg,  he  labors  in 
the  quiet  discharge  of  the  duties  of  his  office  until  Tetzel 
appears  with  his  Indulgences,  selling  on  commission  im- 
punity for  sin.  Then  at  last  his  over-strained  patience 
gives  way.  He  nails  on  the  door  of  the  principal  church 
of  the  city  his  famous  ninety-five  theses,  exposing  the 
iniquity  of  that  business.  And  so,  on  the  31st  of  Octo- 
ber, 1517,  Protestantism  is  born. 

Luther  had  then  no   thought  of   seceding  from  the 
Catholic  Church  and  founding  one  of  his  own.     Had 


68  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

there  been  the  right  man  in  the  papal  chair  there  would 
have  been  no  secession.  He  meant  simply  to  protest 
against  the  fetichism  of  his  time,  and  to  bring  the  Church 
back  to  the  truth  in  Christ.  But  a  controversy  had  been 
opened  with  the  Church  authorities,  not  only  on  this 
matter  of  Indulgences  but  on  other  questions  of  Cath- 
olic doctrine  and  discipline  as  well,  which  could  not 
be  healed ;  and  when  at  the  peremptory  demand  of  the 
papal  legate  Cajetan,  and  again  after  negotiations  with 
Miltitz  and  offers  of  tempting  emoluments  from  Rome, 
he  refused  to  retract,  in  1520  a  bull  of  excommunication 
was  launched  against  him.  That  bull  he  burned  in  the 
public  square  amid  applause  that,  like  the  embattled 
farmers'  shot  at  Concord  in  1775,  was  "  heard  round  the 
world." 

The  rupture  with  Rome  was  consummated  at  the  Diet 
of  Worms,  to  which  in  1521  Luther  was  summoned  to 
answer  for  his  heresies,  and  whither,  against  the  urgent 
advice  of  his  friends  he  repaired,  feeling  that  the  hour 
had  come  when  he  must  show  himself  ready,  if  need 
were,  to  seal  his  testimony  with  his  blood.  His  self- 
communings  and  prayers  which  have  come  down  to  us 
show  how  deeply  he  felt  the  import  of  the  crisis,  how  his 
heart  within  him  burned  as  he  mused  on  its  issues :  — 

"  Ah,  God,  Thou  my  God,  stand  by  me  against  the  reason 
and  wisdom  of  all  the  world !  Thou  must  do  it ;  it  is  not  my 
cause  but  Thine.  For  my  own  person  I  have  nothing  to  do  here 
with  these  great  lords  of  the  world.  Gladly  would  I  have 
quiet  days  and  be  unperplexed.  But  Thine  is  the  cause,  Lord  ! 
it  is  just  and  eternal.  Stand  Thou  by  me,  Thou  true,  eternal 
God !  I  confide  in  no  man,  —  it  is  to  no  purpose  and  in  vain. 
Hast  Thou  chosen  me  for  this  end,  I  ask  Thee  ?  But  I  know 
for  a  surety  that  Thou  hast  chosen  me." 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  69 

As  a  theologian  Luther  was  limited,  even  bigoted ; 
more  so  than  most  of  his  associates  in  the  work  of  re- 
form. He  contributed  little  to  theological  emancipation 
and  the  progress  of  rational  thought.  His  merit  consists 
in  having  grasped,  as  no  one  before  had  done,  the  great 
truth  that  sins  are  not  expiated  and  heaven  secured  by 
meritorious  works.  —  still  less  by  money,  as  the  Church 
in  that  day  would  have  men  believe,  reversing  the  saying 
of  Jesus,  and  making  it  easy  for  the  rich  to  enter  the 
kingdom  of  heaven.  Not  works,  but  faith,  —  not  what  a 
man  performs  to  order,  but  what  he  is,  —  the  ground  of 
salvation,  was  Luther's  doctrine. 

A  man  of  limited  vision,  but  of  boundless  faith  and, 
what  is  equally  characteristic,  of  indomitable  courage ! 
'T  is  a  fearful  thing  for  a  man  to  pit  himself  against  all 
the  powers  that  be,  backed  moreover,  in  Luther's  case, 
by  occasional  misgivings  and  scruples  of  his  own  vacil- 
lating thought.  For  however  sure  he  might  feel  that  the 
Indulgences  issued  by  Leo  and  farmed  by  Tetzel  could 
not  save  souls  from  the  penalties  of  sin,  his  right  to  say 
so  —  he,  a  poor  monk,  to  set  up  his  word  against  the  in- 
fallible head  of  Christendom  and  all  his  angels — was  not 
so  clear.  But  Luther's  better  moments  set  aside  these 
misgivings  as  suggestions  of  the  Devil.  "  How,"  whis- 
pered Satan,  "  if  your  doctrine  be  erroneous ;  if  all  this 
confusion  has  been  stirred  up  without  just  cause  ?  How 
dare  you  preach  what  no  one  has  ventured  for  so  many 
centuries  ?  Are  you  wiser  than  popes,  bishops,  kings, 
emperors  ?  Are  not  all  these  together  wiser  than  a 
single  poor  monk  ?  "  It  is  a  proof  of  the  man's  courage 
that  he  would  not  listen  to  these  suggestions,  but  as- 
cribed them  to  the  Devil,  and  repudiated  them  accord- 
ingly.    In  spite  of  these  intrusive  voices  saying,  "  You 


70  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

must  not!"  a  voice  behind,  more  imperative  than  all, 
called  to  him,  "You  must!"  and  a  courage  beyond  all 
martial  daring  responded  "  I  will ! "  Here  precisely  is 
where  a  higher  power  comes  in  to  reinforce  the  human. 
When  valor  in  a  good  cause  swells  to  that  pitch,  it 
becomes  what  the  Greeks  called  Aaifxcav^  —  inspiration, 
God. 

Of  the  existence  of  a  personal  Devil  he  had  no  more 
doubt  than  he  had  of  his  own.  His  vivid  imagination, 
suborning  the  senses,  might  sometimes  present  the  fiend 
in  bodily  shape.  The  splash  of  ink  which  used  to  be 
shown  to  visitors  at  the  Wartburg  may  or  may  not  have 
been  Luther's  mark  ;  but  nothing  is  more  likely  than 
that  Luther,  with  his  overwrought  brain,  had  a  vision 
resembling  the  popular  idea  of  Satan,  and  hurled  his 
inkstand  at  the  apparition. 

The  vulgar  expression  which  characterizes  certain 
persons  as  having  a  great  deal  of  human  nature  in  them 
is  especially  applicable  to  Luther.  There  was  in  him  a 
largeness  of  nature,  a  great-heartedness,  which  mani- 
fested itself  in  generosity  and  freedom  of  action,  and 
which  has  endeared  him  to  young  Germany  in  all 
succeeding  generations.  He  might  have  accumulated 
wealth,  —  he  had  abundant  opportunities  of  so  doing, — 
but  he  chose  to  remain  poor.  Before  the  rupture  with 
Rome,  the  cardinal  legate  sent  to  Augsburg  to  treat 
with  him  had  rich  livings  and  high  honors  to  bestow,  if 
the  reformer  would  hold  his  tongue.  And  after  the  rup- 
ture, German  nobles  who  sympathized  with  him  sent  him 
presents  of  costly  plate,  all  which  he  sold  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  poor  wretches  rendered  homeless  by  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  monastic  establishments.  "  The  world," 
he  said,  "  cannot  pay  me  for  translating  the  Bible.  .  .  . 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  71 

I  have  asked  no  pay  for  my  books.  Not  the  value  of 
a  penny  have  I  asked  from  my  master  the  Duke  of  Sax- 
ony. The  world  is  not  rich  enough  to  satisfy  me.  The 
world  is  but  the  Decalogue  reversed,  the  Ten  Command- 
ments read  backward." 

The  following  letter  to  his  lord  and  patron  illustrates  the 
independent  spirit  and  indomitable  pluck  of  the  man  : 

From  a  letter  to  Duke  Frederick,  Elector  of  Saxony. 
"Concerning  my  affairs,  most  gracious  Master,  I  answer 
thus  :  Your  Grace  knows  —  or  if  not,  let  this  certify  you  —  that 
I  have  received  the  Gospel  not  from  man  but  from  Heaven, 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  so  that  I  might  have  boasted 
and  styled  myself,  as  I  will  henceforth  do,  an  evangelist.  That 
I  have  submitted  to  be  examined  by  a  tribunal  is  not  because  I 
had  any  doubts  on  my  own  account,  but  out  of  excessive  hu- 
mility. .  .  .  But  now  that  I  see  how  my  humility  tends  to  de- 
grade the  Gospel,  and  that  the  Devil  is  going  to  usurp  the  whole 
space  where  I  have  yielded  only  a  hand-breadth,  I  am  con- 
strained by  my  conscience  to  do  otherwise.  I  have  done  enough 
for  your  Grace  in  yielding  thus  far  in  your  Grace's  service. 
Well  does  the  Devil  know  that  I  have  not  done  it  from  fear. 
He  saw  my  heart  when  I  entered  Worms,  how  if  I  had  known 
that  there  were  as  many  devils  opposed  to  me  as  there  are  tiles 
on  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  I  would  nevertheless  have  leaped  into 
the  midst  of  them  with  joy.  Now,  Duke  George  is  far  from 
being  equal  to  a  single  devil ;  and  seeing  that  the  Father  of  un- 
fathomable mercy  has  made  us  through  the  Gospel  superior  to 
all  devils  and  death,  and  given  us  the  riches  of  trust  so  that  we 
dare  say  to  him,  '  Father,  most  beloved  of  our  hearts ! '  your 
Grace  may  judge  whether  it  were  not  doing  the  greatest  dis- 
honor to  such  a  Father,  if  we  trusted  not  through  Him  to  be 
superior  to  the  wrath  of  Duke  George.  For  myself,  I  know 
well  that  if  matters  stood  at  Leipsic  as  at  Wittenberg  I  would 
nevertheless  ride  thither,  although,  —  your  Grace  shall  pardon 
my  foolish  speech,  —  although  it  should  rain  nothing  but  Duke 


72  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Georges  for  nine  days  running,  and  each  one  of  them  were 
nine  times  more  violent  than  this  one.  He  thinks  my  Lord 
Jesus  to  be  a  man  of  straw.  That,  my  Lord  and  I  can  well 
endure  for  a  season.  ...  I  would  soon  choke  Duke  George 
with  a  word,  if  that  were  all. 

"  I  have  written  this  that  your  Grace  may  know  that  I  am 
going  to  Wittenberg  under  much  higher  protection  than  that  of 
any  Elector.  Nor  have  I  any  thought  of  seeking  protection  of 
your  Grace.  Yea,  I  deem  that  I  could  sooner  protect  your 
Grace  than  you  me.  Moreover,  if  I  knew  that  your  Grace 
would  protect  me,  I  would  not  go  at  all.  .  .  .  And  since  your 
Grace  desires  to  know  what  you  are  to  do  in  this  business,  and 
since  you  think  that  you  have  done  far  too  little,  I  answer,  with 
submission,  that  you  have  already  done  too  much,  and  that  you 
ought  to  do  nothing  at  all.  For  God  cannot  and  will  not  suffer 
either  your  Grace's  or  my  care  and  management.  He  chooses 
that  this  shall  be  left-  to  Him,  and  to  no  one  else.  And  your 
Grace  has  got  to  behave  yourself  accordingly.  .  .  . 

"  Since,  then,  I  will  not  follow  your  Grace's  counsel,  you 
will  be  excused  before  God  if  I  should  be  taken  prisoner  and 
put  to  death." 

Of  Luther's  freedom  of  speech  we  have  examples  in 
the  Tischreden  ("Table  Talk")  recorded  by  his  disciples 
and  friends,  who  were  always  about  him  with  their  tab- 
lets to  gather  up  the  fragments  that  fell  from  his  lips. 
Yery  annoying  it  must  have  been  to  the  master  to  be  thus 
dogged  and  shadowed,  to  have  all  his  ways  observed, 
all  his  sayings  set  in  a  note-book.  But  who,  even  before 
our  latter-day  dispensation  of  the  newspaper,  could  ever 
escape  the  reporter  ?  It  is  related  that  on  one  occasion, 
seeing  one  of  these  parasites  taking  notes,  he  went  to 
him  with  a  spoonful  of  the  gruel  which  constituted  his 
frugal  supper,  and  playfully  throwing  it  in  his  face  said, 
"  Put  that  down  too." 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  73 

The  "  Table  Talk  "  presents  Luther  in  undress,  con- 
versing with  his  friends  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  home 
on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  human  and  divine.  It  reveals 
the  freedom  of  speech  which  his  unquestioning  faith  and 
long  familiarity  with  sacred  things  emboldened  him  to 
use  :  "  We  tell  our  God  plainly,  that  if  He  will  have  a 
church  He  must  look  after  it,  and  maintain  and  defend 
it.  We  can  neither  uphold  nor  protect  it ;  if  we  could,  we 
would  come  to  be  the  proudest  asses  under  heaven." 

A  beautiful  feature  of  Luther's  character  is  his  love  of 
music.  "  His  songs  and  hymns,"  says  Mr.  Froude,  "were 
the  expression  of  the  inmost  heart  of  the  German  peo- 
ple. Music  he  called  the  grandest  and  sweetest  gift  of 
God  to  man." 

Equally  German  was  his  love  of  Nature.  He  seems  to 
have  anticipated  that  love  of  Nature  so  characteristic  of 
our  time,  and  which  may  be  said  to  be  a  reminiscence 
of  the  old  German  life  of  the  forest.  Generally  in 
Luther's  day  Nature  was  looked  upon  as  godless  and 
accursed  ;  but  "  we  are  in  the  dawn  of  a  new  era,"  he 
said  ;  "  we  are  beginning  to  think  something  of  the  nat- 
ural world  which  was  ruined  in  Adam's  Fall.  We  are 
beginning  to  see  in  all  around  us  the  greatness  and  glory 
of  the  Creator.  We  can  see  the  Almighty  hand,  the 
Infinite  goodness,  in  the  humblest  flower." 

Luther's  national  importance  as  a  writer  it  is  impos- 
sible to  over-estimate.  By  his  multitudinous  productions, 
theological,  polemic,  didactic,  political,  —  by  his  hymns, 
above  all  by  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  —  he  conferred 
on  his  country  the  greatest  benefit  which  a  people  can  re- 
ceive,—  the  gift  of  a  common  language.  He  established 
the  new  High-German  as  the  language  of  literature  for 
all  succeeding  time.     All  the  authorities  are  agreed  in 


74  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

this.  All,  from  the  most  cautious  and  conservative  to 
the  most  radical,  even  the  Catholic,  recognize  his  tran- 
scendent merit  in  this  particular. 

Jacob  Grimm,  in  the  preface  to  his  German  grammar, 
says :  — 

"  Luther's  language,  by  reason  of  its  noble,  almost  wonderful 
purity,  must  be  regarded  as  the  core  and  the  foundation  of  the 
new  High- German  language  from  which  to  this  day  there  have 
been  but  very  slight  deviations,  and  those  for  the  most  part  only 
an  injury  to  its  force  and  expressiveness.  The  new  High-German 
in  fact  may  be  designated  the  Protestant  dialect,  whose  liberty- 
breathing  nature  has,  unknown  to  themselves,  overpowered  the 
poets  and  writers  of  the  Catholic  faith.  In  the  irrepressible 
course  of  things  our  language  has  suffered  in  its  vocal  relations 
and  its  forms  ;  but  for  that  which  has  nourished  and  rejuvenated 
its  spirit  and  its  body,  and  has  put  forth  blossoms  of  a  new 
poesy,  we  are  indebted  to  no  one  more  than  to  Luther." 

Rothe  says,  "  The  force  of  his  speech,  his  power  over 
the  minds  of  the  masses,  have  never  been  equalled." 
Baumgarten  says :  — 

"  Not  only  did  Luther  speak  and  write  German,  but  his  lan- 
guage was  a  new  creation,  which  sprang  from  a  deep  and  mighty 
love  of  the  German  people  and  German  ways." 

Ferdinand  Christian  Baur  says  :  — 

"  Every  one  who  has  German  blood  in  his  veins  must  recog- 
nize in  Luther  a  German  man  in  whom,  as  in  no  other,  the 
German  nature  presents  itself  in  its  purest  and  noblest  charac- 
teristics. .  .  .  Together  with  the  emancipation  of  the  religious 
consciousness  of  the  Germans  he  also  '  loosed  their  tongue.'  " 

Gervinus  says  :  — 

*'  It  was  in  accordance  with  our  modern  development  that  in 
Germany  we  conceded  to  no  metropolis,  to  no  learned  society, 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  75 

the  honor  of  fixing  our  language,  but  to  the  man  who  more  than 
any  other  .  .  .  was  the  favorite  of  the  people,  who  better  than 
any  other  hit  the  hearty,  forceful,  healthy  tone  of  the  people. 
No  dictionary  of  an  academy  was  to  be  the  canon  of  our  tongue, 
but  that  book  by  which  modern  humanity  is  schooled  and 
formed,  and  which  in  Germany,  through  Luther,  has  become  as 
nowhere  else  a  people's  book." 

David  Friedrich  Strauss  says :  — 

"  We  may  dispute  concerning  the  idea  of  a  classic  writer.  I 
call  him  a  classic  in  whose  writings  the  deepest  idiosyncrasy  of 
his  people  finds  its  full  expression.  .  .  .  Here,  Luther  takes 
precedence  of  all  others." 

Wackernagel  says,  "  The  first  name  in  the  history  of 
new  High-German  literature  is  Martin  Luther." 
Friedrich  Schlegel,  a  Catholic,  says :  — 

"  Luther  forms  an  epoch  not  only  in  the  history  of  the  Ger- 
man language  through  his  mastery  of  the  same,  but  also  in  the 
history  of  European  science  and  intellectual  culture." 

That  Luther  was  not  what  is  called  a  fine  writer  may 
be  taken  for  granted.  The  charm  of  his  writing  is  its 
naturalness ;  it  is  not  Art  composing,  but  Nature  speak- 
ing. A  special  interest  attaches  to  writings  in  which  we 
encounter  a  marked  personality.  This  is  the  secret  of 
Luther's  power.  Here  is  no  studied  expression,  no  rhe- 
torical cunning,  but  the  honest,  straightforward  speech  of 
an  earnest  soul,  —  a  hearty,  robust,  naive  simplicity  which 
makes  straight  its  way  from  the  soul  to  the  pen,  and  es- 
tablishes a  direct  communication  between  the  writer  and 
the  reader. 

Of  a  brave  and  generous  spirit,  few  marks  are  more 
characteristic  than  humor ;  and  of  humor  the  subtlest 
and  most  pervasive  mode  is  irony.     There  have  been,  it 


76  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

is  true,  great  intellects  and  great  reformers  without  it. 
There  was  not  much  humor,  as  I  remember,  in  Plato, 
except  as  a  reflection  of  Socrates,  —  nor  in  Dante,  nor  in 
Leibnitz,  nor  in  Calvin,  nor  in  John  Stuart  Mill,  nor  in 
Channing.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  men  who  have  wrought 
most  beneficently  in  this  human  world,  with  tongue  or 
pen,  have  had  in  their  mental,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  in 
their  moral,  composition,  —  for  the  quality  is  more  moral 
than  intellectual,  —  a  spice  of  humor.  A  conspicuous 
example  in  this  kind  is  Luther.  Strange  combination, 
one  would  say,  of  the  serious,  consecrated  soul  whose 
consuming  fire  burned  far  into  the  heart  of  the  world, 
and  the  gayety  which  here  and  there  enlivens  his  page ; 
yet  not  so  strange  as  at  first  it  might  seem.  The  very 
friction  of  care  and  sorrow  in  a  powerful  nature  will 
elicit  coruscations  of  mirth,  —  as  when  Hamlet  jests 
with  Ophelia,  and  jests  over  Ophelia's  grave.  When  the 
summer  cloud  hangs  heaviest  and  darkest  we  look  to  see 
flashes  along  its  edge.  Abraham  Lincoln,  with  the  weight 
of  a  nation  on  his  mind,  would  often  indulge  in  quips 
and  drolleries  not  over  nice  ;  and  one  seems  to  feel  that 
without  an  all-buoyant  humor  the  sad-eyed  man  could 
not  have  ridden  the  surge  of  that  tempestuous  time,  but 
must  have  gone  under  in  the  horrible  perplexity  which 
often  could  see  no  course  to  steer  and  no  light  to  guide. 
Luther,  with  the  care  of  a  new-born  Christendom  on  his 
soul,  troubled,  perplexed,  harassed  by  papists  on  one  side 
and  lawless  iconoclasts  on  the  other,  must  sometimes 
find  vent  in  laughter,  or  die. 

Contemporary  with  him  was  one  of  the  world's  great 
humorists,  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  the  most  learned  and 
the  most  facetious  man  of  his  age.  Near  to  each  other  in 
time,  and  nearly  related  in  spiritual  emancipation,  how 


MARTIN  LUTHER,  77 

vast  the  chasm  which  morally  divided  the  two !  With 
Erasmus,  jocoseness  was  the  kernel  and  core  of  his  being 
and  doing;  with  Luther, it  was  only  a  delicate  nimbus  that 
occasionally  played  around  the  edges  of  his  grave  intent. 
With  him  it  was  the  sportiveness  of  faith ;  with  Erasmus 
it  was  the  mirth  of  scepticism,  almost  of  despair.  Luther 
could  sometimes  laugh ;  Erasmus  did  little  else.  Moriat 
Enkomion  (" The  Praise  of  Folly"),  thus  he  entitles  one 
of  his  characteristic  works,  in  which  satire  makes  merry 
with  the  absurdities  of  the  time.  Think  of  writing  such 
a  book,  with  whatever  purpose,  in  that  day  of  folly,  whose 
morrow  was  the  great  and  terrible  day  of  the  Lord,  when 
the  elements  were  about  to  melt  with  fervent  heat !  The 
book  was  dedicated  to  Sir  Thomas  More,  also  a  man  of 
invincible  humor, — humor  that  sparkled  under  the  exe- 
cutioner's axe.  But  the  brave  chancellor — of  England's 
chancellors,  almost  of  England's  sons,  the  bravest  and  best 
—  was  morally  incapable  of  writing  such  a  book.  And 
so  was  Luther.  For  him  the  follies  of  the  world  were  no 
joke,  but  a  loathsome,  dangerous  disease  to  be  purged 
away  by  quite  other  cautery  than  that  of  the  sharpest  wit. 
Though  with  humor  richly  endowed,  he  was  not  a  humor- 
ist in  the  technical  sense ;  not  a  humorist  by  vocation. 
It  was  in  him  a  quality  that  showed  itself  mostly  in  the 
pleasantries  of  epistolary  intercourse,  in  the  playful 
irony  which  enlivens  his  letters  to  intimate  friends,  espe- 
cially those  to  his  wife,  —  the  loving,  simple  body,  whom 
he  pleases  himself  by  addressing  with  grand  titles,  as 
a  person  of  high  distinction  :  "  To  her  Grace,  Lady 
Catherine  Luther,  my  sweetheart ; "  "  To  the  deeply 
learned  Lady  Katharin  Lutherin,  my  gracious  house- 
wife." From  Eisleben  he  writes  to  the  ""  Doctoress  and 
Self-martyress" :  — 


78  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

''  Dear  Kate,  —  Thou  wilt  still  be  anxious  before  thy  God, 
as  if  He  were  not  almighty,  and  could  not  create  ten  new  Dr. 
Martins  if  the  old  one  were  to  drown  in  the  Saale  or  the  Ofen 
Loch.  Leave  me  in  peace  with  your  anxiety.  I  have  a  better 
guardian  than  you  and  all  the  angels.  He  lies  in  the  crib  and 
hangs  on  the  Virgin's  breast,  but  sits  nevertheless  at  the  right 
hand  of  God.  Amen  !  I  think  all  the  world  must  be  emptied 
of  its  devils,  who  all  on  my  account  have  come  together  here  in 
Eisleben.  Pray,  pray,  pray !  and  help  us  that  we  may  do  well  ! 
The  country  wine  here  is  good,  and  the  Naumburg  beer  is  very 
good,  except  that  I  think  it  makes  my  chest  full  of  phlegm 
with  its  pitch.  The  Devil  has  spoiled  us  all  the  beer  in  the 
world  with  his  pitch,  and  the  wine  with  sulphur.  .  .  .  The  let- 
ters you  wrote  have  arrived,  and  to-day  came  the  letter  you 
wrote  next  Friday,  together  with  that  of  Master  Philip.  So 
don't  be  impatient.  [Dated  Sunday  after  Dorothy's  Day, 
1546.] 

"  Thy  dear  Lord,  M.  Luther." 

In  a  previous  letter  written  from  Halle  he  speaks  of  a 
great  inundation  caused  by  the  rise  of  the  Saale,  which 
prevented  his  proceeding  immediately  to  Eisleben.  It 
suggests  to  him  the  sect  of  the  Anabaptists,  or,  as  we  call 
them,  the  Baptists,  who  had  given  him  much  trouble  : 

"  Dear  Kate,  —  We  arrived  to-day  at  eight  o'clock  at  Halle, 
but  could  not  proceed  to  Eisleben,  for  there  met  us  a  great 
Anabaptist  with  billows  of  water  and  cakes  of  ice,  deluging  the 
country  and  threatening  us  with  baptism.  For  the  same  cause 
we  could  not  go  back  on  account  of  [the  overflowing  of]  the 
Moldau,  but  were  forced  to  lie  still  at  Halle  between  the  waters. 
Not  that  we  thirsted  to  drink  of  them  ;  we  took  instead  good 
Torgan  beer  and  good  Rhine  wine,  and  comforted  and  refreshed 
ourselves  while  we  waited  till  the  Saale  should  have  spent  her 
wrath.  .  .  .  We  would  not  venture  into  the  water  and  tempt 
God.  For  the  Devil  is  our  enemy,  and  he  lives  in  the  water ; 
and  prevention  is  better  than  complaint,  and  there  is  no  reason 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  79 

why  we  should  give  the  Pope  and  his  emissaries  occasion  to  re- 
joice. ...  I  think  if  you  had  been  with  us  you  would  have 
counselled  us  to  do  as  we  have  done.  Then  for  once  we  should 
have  followed  your  advice." 

The  following  is  from  his  exposition  of  Psalm  ci. : 

"  In  the  world  it  appears  that  no  one  is  so  rude  and  incapable 
but  thinks  that  if  he  were  governor  he  would  do  great  things, 
and  is  dissatisfied  with  all  that  is  done  by  those  who  have  the 
rule,  —  like  that  slave  in  Terence's  comedy  who  said,  '  Ah,  I 
ought  to  have  been  a  king ! '  and  as  Absalom  spoke  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Israel,  '  Oh  that  I  were  made  judge  in  the  land,  that 
every  man  which  hath  any  suit  or  cause  might  come  unto  me 
and  I  would  do  him  justice ! '  These  are  the  master  wiseacres 
who  can  only  criticise  others,  but  when  they  undertake  a  thing 
themselves  they  are  sure  to  make  a  botch  of  it,  —  as  the  saying 
is,  *  They  that  look  on  and  see  the  game,  they  can  do  it  better.' 
They  think  if  they  could  only  get  the  bowl  in  their  hands  they 
would  knock  down  twelve  skittles  at  once,  whereas  there  are 
but  nine ;  and  when  they  come  to  try,  they  find  that  there  is  a 
way  for  the  ball  to  run  beside  the  alley.  Such  people  render  no 
praise  or  thanks ;  they  do  not  consider  that  success  is  the  gift 
of  God,  and  that  they  ought  to  pray  to  Him  for  it.  But  they  are 
presumptuous,  and  fancy  that  their  own  reason  and  wisdom  are 
so  competent  that  they  cannot  fail ;  they  want  to  have  all  the 
honor  and  fame  for  doing  better  than  others,  —  just  as  if  our  Lord 
God  sat  up  there  idle,  and  were  not  needed  when  anything  good 
is  to  be  done !  And  sometimes  He  does  sit  idle,  and  lets  them 
have  their  way,  —  lets  the  children  of  men  in  their  presump- 
tion undertake  to  build  their  tower  of  Babel ;  and  by  and  by  He 
comes  in  and  scatters  them  and  brings  their  devices  to  nought, 
so  that  no  one  can  understand  what  the  other  says.  And  serves 
them  right,  because  they  left  God  out  of  their  plan,  and  wanted 
themselves  to  be  wise  as  God,  and  to  have  the  honor  which  be- 
longs to  God  alone.  .  .  .  Saint  Paul  says,  *  He  that  plants  is  no- 
thing, and  he  that  watereth  is  nothing ;  but  God  that  giveth  the 
increase.'     The  children  of  men  do  not  believe  this  till  they 


80  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

learn  it  by  experience.  If  they  only  consult  together,  they 
think  the  desired  result  must  follow.  *  How  can  it  fail,'  they 
say;  '  it  is  as  certain  as  that  7  and  3  make  10.'  That  is  true 
mathematically  ;  they  are  right  in  their  calculations.  But  prac- 
tically, when  it  comes  to  action,  it  is  sometimes  found  that  God 
can  melt  down  the  7  into  1,  or  make  1  into  7. 

"  There  sits  King  or  Prince  by  himself,  wise  and  prudent,  and 
he  has  hold  of  the  matter  by  all  its  five  points  ;  then  comes  a 
jurist  with  his  book,  and  finds  the  law  written  down  so  clear  and 
sure  that  it  cannot  fail ;  and  after  that  some  big  bully,  whose 
head  is  too  small  to  hold  its  wisdom,  and  he  finds  it  in  natural 
equity  so  firmly  grounded,  so  deeply  rooted,  that  all  the  world 
may  not  overthrow  it.  Then  they  ring  the  bell,  —  the  great  bell 
booms,  and  comes  me  a  bishop,  prelate,  theologus,  whether  self- 
made  or  whoever  made  him  ;  he  brings  God's  word  and  the 
Holy  Scripture  to  bear ;  and  then  the  Devil  himself  must  give 
in,  and  allow  the  cause  to  be  right  and  just  and  divine.  There 
they  sit,  the  four  pillars  of  the  State,  and  think  they  could  bear 
up  heaven  itself  if  God  should  require  it  of  their  wisdom !  Not 
one  of  them  looks  up  and  seeks  counsel  and  aid  of  God  ;  they 
are  either  so  godless  that  conscience  does  not  prompt  them  to 
pray,  or  they  are  so  sure  of  their  wisdom  and  their  cause  that 
they  forget  in  their  contempt  to  do  so.  They  think  they  need 
nothing,  being  used  to  counsel,  and  are  hardened  in  their  unbe- 
lief. And  so  our  Lord  God  must  sit  idle ;  it  is  not  for  Him  to 
interfere  with  the  counsels  of  such  wise  people  !  And  He  chats 
the  while  perhaps  with  his  angel  Gabriel,  and  says :  *  What  are 
those  wise  folks  doing  in  their  council-chamber  down  there  that 
they  do  not  take  us  into  their  counsels  ?  Perhaps  they  are  go- 
ing to  build  another  tower  of  Babel.  Dear  Gabriel,  run  down, 
and  take  Isaiah  with  you,  and  privily  read  them  a  lecture 
through  their  window,  and  say :  "  Seeing  ye  shall  not  see, 
hearing  ye  shall  not  hear,  neither  shall  ye  understand.  Con- 
clude your  deliberation,  and  nothing  shall  come  of  it ;  consult 
together,  and  it  shall  not  stand.  For  counsel  is  mine,  and 
sound  wisdom ;  I  have  strength,  saith  the  Lord." ' 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  g^ 


THEORISTS   AND   MEN   OF    PRACTICAL  GENIUS. 

"  God  has  two  sorts  of  people  in  the  world  ;  they  are  found  in 
all  ranks.  There  are  some  who  have  a  special  star  before  God. 
He  himself  teaches  and  drills  them,  as  He  chooses  them  to  be. 
The  wind  for  them  always  sits  in  the  right  quarter ;  they  are  the 
lucky  ones,  they  win  the  victory.  Whatever  they  undertake  suc- 
ceeds, though  all  the  world  be  against  it.  For  God  who  puts  it 
into  their  hearts  and  gives  them  sense  and  courage.  He  puts  it 
into  their  hands  also,  and  it  must  be  accomplished.  Such  people 
I  do  not  call  educated  but  created  princes  and  masters.  They 
need  no  teaching  and  prescribing  what  and  how  they  shall  do  ; 
before  one  can  teach  them,  they  have  done  it.  Such  was  the 
doughty  warrior  Hannibal.  No  one  taught  him  how  to  beat  the 
Romans  so  cruelly ;  he  had  the  master  and  teacher  in  himself. 
He  did  it  all  before  any  one  could  tell  him  how,  and  did  it 
sometimes  against  the  counsel  and  teaching  of  others.  And 
here  I  must  give  you  an  example  from  Cicero.  Cicero  writes 
that  when  Hannibal  applied  to  Antiochus  the  Great  for  aid 
against  the  Romans,  and  was  well  received  at  court,  there  was 
a  philosopher  there  by  the  name  of  Phormio,  whom  Antiochus 
desired  that  Hannibal  should  hear.  So  Phormio  was  sum- 
moned, and  paraded  his  wisdom.  He  discoursed  for  hours 
about  wars  and  captains,  —  how  they  should  be  conducted  and 
constituted,  and  what  goes  to  make  a  good  warrior.  And  all 
the  people  applauded  and  marvelled  at  his  discourse.  And  An- 
tiochus asked  Hannibal  how  he  liked  it ;  and  Hannibal  said  :  '  I 
have  seen  many  old  fools  in  my  day,  but  never  one  equal  to 
this  Phormio.'  And  Cicero  commends  the  answer.  Hannibal 
had  conquered  the  Romans  and  all  the  world,  and  Phormio, 
who  had  never  in  all  his  life  seen  an  army,  was  going  to  teach 
him  how  to  make  war.  The  world  is  full  of  Phormios,  who 
know  better  than  any  one  else  how  a  thing  should  be  done  and 
can  never  do  it.  So  when  David  was  to  fight  Goliath,  they 
wanted  to  teach  him  how  ;  they  put  armor  on  him,  and  rigged 
him  out  with  helmet  and  sword.     Yes,  dear !  David  could  n't 

6 


82  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

bear  the  armor ;  he  had  another  teacher  in  himself,  and  he  slew 
Goliath  before  they  knew  how  he  was  going  to  do  it.  For  he 
was  not  an  apprentice  in  this  art,  but  a  God-created  master 
of  it." 

Here  we  take  leave  of  the  greatest  man  of  modern 
history  ;  the  man  from  whom  modern  history  emanated, 
in  whose  word  and  work  are  found  its  most  influential 
factors,  —  the  spirit  of  inquiry,  independent  thought,  the 
onward  impulse,  defiance  of  consecrated  wrong.  At  the 
distance  of  three  centuries  our  age  still  obeys  the  law  of 
that  movement  whose  van  he  led ;  and  the  latest  age 
will  bear  its  impress.  For  here  amid  the  phantasms 
which  crowd  the  stage  of  human  existence  was  a  great 
reality,  a  genuine  nature,  a  piece  of  the  solid  world,  one 
whom  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  not  to  have  been. 

A  recent  writer,  Professor  Schon  of  Vienna,  has  made 
the  discovery  that  Luther  was  crazy  ;  for  he  said  and  did 
things  which  surely  no  sane  man,  as  such  minds  esteem 
sanity,  —  that  is,  no  observer  of  conventional  propriety, — 
would  have  said  or  done.  Yes  !  he  was  mad,  as  are  all  of 
his  mould  and  kin.  He  was  mad  to  burn  the  Pope's  Bull 
in  the  public  square,  to  defy  the  Devil  in  high  places,  to 
give  to  Germany  a  Bible  and  a  Church,  and  to  open  the 
way  to  spiritual  freedom.  He  was  mad  with  that  over- 
powering, upheaving  madness  which  sweeps  away  cor- 
ruptions, breaks  down  the  old  refuge  of  lies,  and  purges 
and  renews  the  world.  Pity  such  madness  is  not  in- 
fectious, is  not  communicable,  is  not  to  be  had  at  will, 
and  appears  at  intervals  so  rare  in  this  sane  world's 
history  ! 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      83 


CHAPTER   YII. 

HANS  SACHS  AND   ULRICH   VON   HUTTEN. 

IT  is  seldom  that  one  and  the  same  season  is  equally 
fruitful  the  world  over,  or  even  in  neighbor-lands. 
This  is  true  of  intellectual  as  well  as  of  material  fecun- 
dity ;  as  true  of  literary  harvests  as  it  is  of  cereal  crops. 
The  sixteenth  century,  elsewhere,  and  especially  in  Eng- 
land, so  wondrously  prolific  of  masterpieces  of  poetic  art. 
—  the  richest  epoch  in  her  literary  annals,  —  was  Ger- 
many's leanest,  fallowest  time.  I  speak  of  poetic  crea- 
tions merely.  It  need  not  be  said  that  the  century  which 
bore  and  cradled  the  Protestant  Reformation  was  not  an 
era  of  mental  stagnation.  Then,  if  ever,  the  national  mind 
was  wide  awake,  and  the  exquisite  satire  of  the  famed 
"  Epistolae  Obscurorum  Virorum "  shows  what  wit  and 
sap  there  were  in  the  scholars  of  that  time.  But  the 
works  of  that  period  were  mostly  theological,  controver- 
sial ;  moreover  they  were  written  in  Latin,  and  cannot  be 
reckoned  as  constituents  of  German  literature. 

The  genuine  German  Muse,  so  assiduously  cultivated 
in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  was  almost  de- 
serted in  the  sixteenth.  Almost,  but  not  quite.  I  have 
spoken  of  Luther's  place  and  part  in  the  literature  of 
Germany,  of  the  eminent  importance  especially  of  his 
version  of  the  Bible  in  fixing  and  equalizing  the  lan- 
guage of  the  people.  I  have  now  a  word  to  say  of  one  of 
Luther's  contemporaries,  the  one  most  like  him  in  some 


84  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

respects,  and  notably  in  the  quality  which  the  Germans 
call  Derbheit, — in  hearty,  downright  plainness  of  speech. 
I  speak  of  Hans  Sachs,  —  like  Luther  one  of  the  people, 
the  son  of  a  tailor,  born  in  the  city  of  Niirnberg  in  1494. 

The  city  of  Nurnberg  was  then  one  of  the  principal  com- 
mercial cities,  not  of  Germany  only,  but  of  Europe.  It 
was  the  great  entrepot  of  the  trade  with  the  East,  which 
before  the  discovery  of  the  passage  around  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  was  carried  on  by  Venetian  merchants,  and 
from  Venice  found  its  way  through  the  passes  of  the 
Tyrol  to  the  great  centres  of  distribution  for  the  North, 
of  which  Augsburg  and  Niirnberg  were  the  chief.  Nurn- 
berg was  also  the  capital  of  German  art,  the  home  of 
A.  Dtirer,  of  Peter  Vischer,  of  Adam  Kraft  and  others, 
whose  works  still  glorify  her  churches  and  museums  and 
public  squares.  At  present,  the  solemn  mediaeval  city  by 
a  curious  destiny  has  become  the  world's  toy-shop.  No 
longer  an  imperial  free  city,  no  longer  a  commercial 
power  and  a  centre  of  aesthetic  influence,  she  is  active 
still  in  another  kind.  Instead  of  creating  altar-pieces, 
entombments,  Adams  and  Eves,  St.  Sebald's  monuments 
and  architectural  fountains,  she  supplies  the  nurseries  of 
Europe  and  America  with  Noah's  arks  and  Swiss  villa- 
ges, and  wooden  armies  and  miniature  fifes  and  drums. 
Scarcely  a  child  of  any  well-to-do  family  but  receives 
once  a  year  a  token  from  Nurnberg  through  the  media- 
tion of  Saint  Nicholas. 

In  his  seventh  year  Hans  Sachs  attended  the  Latin 
school  in  his  native  town,  where  "  I  studied,"  he  tells 
us,  "  Puerilia  Grammatica  and  Musica  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  time,  all  which  I  have  since  forgotten." 
Himself  the  son  of  a  tailor,  he  chose  for  his  own  profes- 
sion and  life-work  that  of  shoemaker,  to  which  he  was 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      85 

apprenticed  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and  which,  having  in  his 
twentieth  year  become  master  of  his  craft,  he  practised  so 
long  as  he  was  able  to  work.  He  is  one  of  that  illus- 
trious triad,  including  Boehme  and  George  Fox,  whose 
life  and  works  have  defied  the  proverb  Ne  sutor  ultra 
crepidam,  —  "  the  cobbler  must  stick  to  his  last."  It  is 
worthy  of  note  that  precisely  the  craft  which  the  proverb 
thus  restricts  has  given  the  most  shining  examples  of  the 
perfect  compatibility  of  mechanical  pursuits  with  intel- 
lectual attainments  and  literary  eminence,  —  eminence 
not  merely  in  works  of  the  understanding  (which  that 
craft  might  seem  especially  adapted  to  promote),  but  in 
the  way  of  deep  philosophic  insight. 

Hans  Sachs  was  not  only  master-cordwainer,  but 
master-singer  as  well.  That  term  is  explained  by  a  fact 
which  should  be  stated  as  one  of  the  curiosities  of  litera- 
ture. Poetry,  no  longer  the  delight  and  occupation,  as 
in  the  centuries  preceding,  of  knights  and  nobles,  had 
devolved  upon  the  middle  or  burgher  class,  and  was  con- 
stituted a  regular  profession,  organized  like  other  call- 
ings, and,  like  all  the  civil  pursuits  of  that  day,  having 
its  regular  guilds,  apprenticeships  and  masterships,  and 
rules  of  the  craft.  To  the  Minnesingers  of  the  thirteenth 
century  had  succeeded  the  Master-singers  of  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth.  In  Niirnberg  alone  there  is  said  to  have 
been  two  hundred  and  fifty  Master-singers  by  profession. 
That  not  much  poetry,  none  of  the  genuine  sort,  was  born 
of  such  an  institution;  that  Pegasus  in  civil  harness, 
yoked  to  a  dray,  could  but  amble  at  best  in  doggerel 
fashion,  —  may  be  assumed  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Goethe,  referring  to  the  abundance  of  poets  in  his  day, 
says :  "In  the  time  of  roses  they  are  found  on  every 
wayside  briar.     But  the  time  of  roses  is  a  dispensation 


86  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

of  Nature,  —  a  grace  of  Heaven  which  no  civil  institution 
and  no  human  device  can  bring  about." 

The  fundamental  principle  of  the  institution  of  the 
Master-singers  was  that  the  art  of  poetry,  like  any  other 
art,  might  be  acquired  by  any  one  who  chose  to  apply 
himself  thereto.  In  direct  contradiction  of  the  saying, 
"  Poeta  nascitur,  non  fit,"  it  was  held  that  diligent  observ- 
ance of  certain  rules  was  all  that  was  needed  for  this 
high  function ;  and  accordingly  associations  were  formed, 
schools  were  established ,  and  a  grammar  of  rules  called  a 
Tahulatur  prepared  for  the  making  and  furnishing  of 
poets.  The  first  of  these  associations  is  said  to  have  been 
founded  at  Mainz  in  tlie  fourteenth  century  by  Heinrich 
Meissen,  one  of  the  later  Minnesingers, — called,  from  his 
use  of  the  word  Frau  ^  in  his  praise  of  women,  "  Frauen- 
lob."  In  grateful  acknowledgment  of  this  tribute  the 
women  of  Mainz,  when  he  died,  bore  his  body  to  the 
churchyard  with  loud  lament,  and  poured  wine  upon  his 
grave.  From  Mainz,  under  a  charter  granted  by  Charles 
IV.,  the  association  extended  its  branches  to  other  cities, 
Strasburg,  Frankfort,  and  in  the  fifteenth  century  to 
Niirnberg  and  Augsburg.  These  afiiliated  guilds  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  mechanics.  The  leading  members  were 
masters  in  the  several  guilds  of  their  callings,  —  shoe- 
makers, tailors,  locksmiths,  brass  founders,  and  the  like. 
After  a  specified  term  of  apprenticeship  in  the  Sing- 
schule,  the  poetic  aspirant  was  publicly  examined  in  a 
solemn  assembly  of  the  whole  guild.  He  was  required 
to  give  proof  of  his  knowledge  of  versification  and  rhyme 
and  all  the  rules  of  the  Tahulatur,  If  he  acquitted 
himself  satisfactorily  he  was  graduated  as  journeyman, 
and  after  further  proficiency  promoted  to  the  rank  of 

1  Instead  of  Weib,  —  lady  instead  of  woman. 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      87 

master-singer.  Occasionally  there  were  exhibitions  of 
master-singers  competing  for  prizes  in  one  or  another 
city  of  the  association.  One  of  these  exhibitions,  presided 
over  by  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  and  given  in  one  of  the 
churches  of  Niirnberg,  is  described  by  August  Hagen : 
Near  the  pulpit  was  a  second  pulpit  called  the  Singer- 
stuhl^  occupied  successively  by  the  different  competitors, 
and  in  the  choir  was  a  platform  where  sat  the  "  mark- 
ers," whose  duty  it  was  to  mark  the  mistakes  in  measure 
or  matter  of  which  a  singer  might  be  guilty,  counting  on 
their  fingers  the  syllables  in  each  verse  to  prove  the 
correctness  of  the  metre.  The  victor  was  rewarded  with 
a  silver  chain  bearing  a  medal  on  which  was  an  image 
of  King  David,  who  was  accounted  the  master-singer  of 
the  world. 

Had  Hans  Sachs  produced  nothing  else  in  the  way 
of  poetry  than  the  verses  which  he  made  professionally 
as  member  of  the  honorable  guild  of  Master-singers, 
his  name  it  is  likely  would  not  have  survived.  Four 
thousand  and  odd  poems  he  is  said  to  have  manufac- 
tured in  that  capacity,  made  according  to  rule  and 
measure,  no  doubt  entirely  correct,  and  very  worthless. 
Not  one  of  them  has  come  down  to  us,  for  the  very  suffi- 
cient reason  that  he  had  the  good  sense  to  suppress 
them  all.  "  If,  nevertheless,"  says  Koberstein,  "  he  is  to 
be  regarded  as  the  best  German  poet  of  his  time,  that 
distinction  is  due  to  those  poems  only  which  he  com- 
posed, so  to  speak,  out  of  school,  in  the  simple  artless 
form  of  short-rhymed  couplets,  and  in  the  tone  of  the 
Volkspoesie.  Only  these  productions,  whose  number  he 
himself  estimates  at  two  hundred,  he  arranged  for  print 
and  published  in  five  folio  volumes.  Even  of  these  a  por- 
tion are  as  unpoetical  as  possible,  because  he  sometimes 


88  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ventured  on  subjects  which  absolutely  resist  poetical 
treatment.  But  many  of  them,  especially  of  the  stories, 
farces,  fables,  carnival  masques,  and  parables,  leave 
scarce  anything  to  be  desired,  unless  it  be  a  finer  lan- 
guage and  greater  regularity  of  form." 

In  what  may  be  called  the  technics  of  poetry,  —  in 
the  art  of  versification,  in  metrical  flow,  in  melody  and 
rhythm, —  Hans  Sachs,  it  must  be  confessed,  does  not 
shine.  His  material  is  cast  into  a  rough  sort  of  mea- 
sure which  reads  like  that  of  Hudibras,  with  less  of 
monotony  perhaps,  but  with  even  greater  disregard  of 
metrical  cadence,  —  a  measure  in  which  accent  tri- 
umphs over  quantity,  and  whose  movement  resembles 
that  of  a  spring-wagon  over  a  corduroy  road.  But  the 
spirit  of  poetry  was  in  the  man,  so  far  as  the  spirit  of 
poetry  consists  in  the  seeing  eye,  the  feeling  heart,  and 
the  rightly  divining  and  interpreting  sense  applied  to 
the  aspects  of  every-day  life.  In  these  respects  he  jus- 
tifies what  Goethe  says  of  him  in  a  well-known  poem 
written  in  imitation  of  the  old  master-singer,  and  en- 
titled "  Hans  Sachsen's  Poetische  Sendung,  — 

**  Er  hatt  ein  Auge  treu  und  klug, 
Und  Hebe  voiles  Herz  genug, 
Zu  schauen  Manches  klar  und  rein, 
Und  wieder  alles  zu  machen  fein.'* 

Among  the  extant  writings  of  Hans  Sachs  are  dra- 
matic poems  founded  on  Biblical  history,  and  suggested 
perhaps  by  the  Miracle  Plays  of  an  elder  age.  One  of 
these  is  entitled  "  The  Unlike  [that  is,  the  good  and  bad] 
Children  of  Eve,  and  what  God  said  to  them."  Its 
charm  consists  in  its  guileless  simplicity  and  unconscious 
disregard  of  chronological  and  other  proprieties.     The 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      89 

subject  is  handled  with  a  childlike  faith,  which  excuses 
and  redeems  what  would  otherwise  be  travesty  and  blas- 
phemy. The  good  children  —  the  term  being  used  in 
the  widest  sense  —  are  Abel,  Seth,  Jared,  Enoch,  Methu- 
selah, and  Lamech ;  the  bad  children  are  Cain,  Dathan, 
Achar,  Nabal,  Esau,  and  Nimrod.  The  poet  has  no 
scruple  in  representing  all  these  worthies  and  un worthies 
as  being  boys  of  the  same  age.  The  Lord  has  signified 
to  Eve  that  he  will  come  down  on  a  certain  Sunday  and 
catechise  the  boys.  The  good  mother  sets  about  her  pre- 
paration for  this  event  by  making  her  boys  neat  and  trim, 
as  befits  the  occasion.  But  Cain,  prefiguring  his  future 
wickedness,  refuses  to  be  washed,  to  have  his  hair 
combed,  or  to  put  on  his  Sunday  clothes  ;  and  when  the 
Lord  enters,  contrary  to  previous  instruction,  Cain  gives 
him  the  left  hand  instead  of  the  right.  The  catechising 
begins ;  the  good  boys  are  asked  if  they  can  say  their 
prayers,  whereupon  each  embodies  in  a  really  beautiful 
and  touching  paraphrase  one  of  the  petitions  of  the 
Lord's  Prayer.     Then  the  Lord  proceeds  to  question : 

"  Abel,  what  do  you  understand  by  the  word  Amen  f  " 
"  Seth,  how  do  we  know  that  prayer  is  heard  ?  " 
"  Jared,  if  God  does  not  give  at  once  what  we  pray  for,  what 
must  believers  do  ?  " 

And  so  on  with  Enoch,  Methuselah,  and  Lamech,  all  an- 
swering promptly  and  correctly  as  set  down  in  the  cate- 
chism in  use  in  Hans  Sachs's  time.  Then  come  the 
Commandments  :  — 

"  Abel,  what  is  the  first  commandment  ?  " 
"  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  me." 
"  What  is  forbidden  and  what  is  required  in  this  command- 
ment ?  " 


90  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

So  each  answers  in  turn  the  questions  put  to  him,  and 
all  receive  encouraging  words  from  the  Lord.  The 
Creed  is  next  in  order ;  and  here  belief  in  Christ  and  the 
several  points  of  Christian  doctrine  is  confessed  by  these 
patriarchs  with  a  promptitude  which  would  be  creditable 
to  any  Sunday-school  of  to-day.  Then  comes  the  turn  of 
the  bad  boys,  whose  answers  of  course  are  incorrect  and 
often  ludicrously  awry ;  whereat  the  Lord  is  much  dis- 
pleased, declares  them  to  be  a  bad  lot,  whose  earthly 
portion  will  be  a  hard  one,  —  for  whereas  the  boys  who 
have  said  their  catechism  well  are  to  come  to  honor,  and 
be  kings  and  princes,  scholars,  preachers,  and  bishops, 
Cain  and  his  associates  are  destined  to  be  plowmen, 
cottagers,  shepherds,  hangmen,  day-laborers,  beadles, 
policemen,  carriers,  teamsters,  shoemakers,  and  militia- 
men, or  military  volunteers,  —  LandsTcnechte. 

The  last  term  requires  explanation.  The  Emperor 
Maximilian  in  the  fifteenth  century  had  raised  some 
regiments  for  his  army  by  voluntary  enlistment.  In 
times  of  peace  these  fighting  men  were  thrown  upon  the 
country  without  employment,  and  took  to  begging  from 
door  to  door.  The  money  obtained  in  this  way  they 
often  spent  in  gambling  and  carousing.  In  many  ways 
they  were  a  public  nuisance,  and  much  disliked  by  staid 
and  sober  citizens.  They  were  called  Landshiechte, 
(land-servants)  ;  whence  the  French  lansquenet.  They 
seem  to  have  been  especially  hateful  to  Hans  Sachs,  who 
satirizes  them  in  the  following  poem,  which  I  find  in 
Biisching's  collection.  It  represents  nine  landsknechte 
who  went  begging  about  the  country,  and  one  day  strolled 
up  to  the  gate  of  heaven,  where  they  knocked  and  begged 
admittance.  Saint  Peter  as  usual  was  keeping  watch  at 
the  gate.     When  he  saw  the  landsknechte  he  ran  to  the 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      91 

Lord  and  said,  "  Lord,  there's  a  parcel  of  poor  fellows  at 
the  gate  who  want  to  come  in."  The  Lord  said,  "  Let 
them  wait  awhile."  When  the  landsknechte  were  not 
admitted  tliey  began  to  curse  and  swear,  and  made  use 
of  certain  strange  oaths,  among  which  was  the  word 
Sacrament,  Saint  Peter,  who  did  not  know  much  about 
swearing,  thought  they  were  talking  of  spiritual  things, 
and  pleaded  with  the  Lord  for  their  admittance.  "  I 
have  never  seen,"  he  said,  "  a  more  pious  set."  The 
Lord  replied,  "  Oh,  Peter,  you  don't  know  them.  I  see 
they  are  landsknechte;  if  they  were  here  they  would 
make  heaven  too  narrow  for  us  with  their  mischievous 
pranks."  But  Peter  persisted,  and  at  last  the  Lord 
said,  "  Well,  let  them  in ;  you  will  have  them  on  your 
hands,  and  then  you  may  see  how  you  can  get  rid  of 
them."  So  Peter  ran  and  opened  the  gates  and  let  in 
his  pious  landsknechte.  No  sooner  were  they  in  heaven 
than  immediately  they  set  about  begging  of  everybody; 
and  when  they  had  collected  a  little  money  they  squatted 
down  on  the  first  grass-plot  and  began  to  gamble.  It 
was  not  long  before  they  quarrelled  over  their  dice,  and 
rushed  at  each  other  in  furious  combat.  Saint  Peter, 
hearing  the  noise,  came  with  great  indignation,  and  took 
them  to  task.  "  What !  will  you  squabble  and  fight  in 
heaven  ?  "  This  interference  was  fiercely  resented.  The 
landsknechte  left  off  beating  each  other  and  fell  upon 
Peter,  whom  they  left  half  dead  with  their  blows.  When 
he  had  recovered  his  breath  he  came  to  the  Lord  with 
a  piteous  complaint.  The  Lord  said,  "It  serves  you 
right.  Did  I  not  advise  you  to  keep  them  out  ?  They 
are  a  shameful  crew."  Peter  replied,  "  Oh,  Lord,  it  was 
a  great  mistake  ;  it  shall  be  a  warning  to  me  never  to 
admit  another  landsknecht.     But  now  help  me  to  get 


92  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

them  out."  The  Lord  said,  "  Go  tell  one  of  the  angels 
to  take  a  drum  and  beat  an  alarm  outside  of  the  gates." 
No  sooner  was  this  done  than  the  landsknechte,  think- 
ing it  was  the  reveille,  rushed  out ;  whereupon  Saint 
Peter  immediately  closed  the  gates  and  barred  them. 
And  since  then  no  landsknecht  has  ever  been  admitted 
to  heaven,  because  Saint  Peter  has  a  grudge  against 
them. 

The  other  satire  presents  the  landsknechte  in  connec- 
tion with  the  opposite,  Satanic  interest.  Lucifer  in 
council  with  his  devils  informs  them  that  he  has  heard 
of  a  class  of  people  who  have  lately  arisen  in  Germany, 
called  landsknechte.  The  report  of  them  had  excited  his 
interest.  They  were  said  to  be  averse  to  fasting,  not  par- 
ticular about  prayer,  but  given  to  carousing  and  much 
swearing.  He  would  like  to  make  their  acquaintance. 
"  Beelzebub,  suppose  you  run  up  to  Germany,  capture  a 
dozen  of  these  fellows  and  bring  them  down  to  us."  This 
Beelzebub  undertakes  to  do.  He  enters  a  tavern  which 
this  gentry  frequent,  and  hides  himself  behind  the  stove 
in  that  snug  corner  which  in  German  houses  is  popularly 
called  the  hell.  There  he  listens  to  the  talk  and  watches 
the  doings  of  the  landsknechte.  It  makes  his  hair 
stand  on  end ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  he  cannot  get 
hold  of  them,  because  every  time  that  one  drank  he  re- 
peated the  customary  Gesegnet  sei^s,  — "  May  it  be  blessed 
to  you  !  "  So  they  were  all  unfortunately  blest,  and  the 
Devil  had  no  power  over  them.  Now,  it  happened  that 
one  of  them  had  stolen  a  fowl,  which  unknown  to  Beel- 
zebub was  hanging  in  the  very  corner  he  had  chosen  for 
his  hiding-place.  Presently  one  of  them  calls  to  the 
waiter,  "  Go  fetch  that  fellow  behind  the  stove !  we  '11 
pluck  him  and  roast  him,"  meaning  the  fowl.   Beelzebub, 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.       93 

thinking  that  the  order  concerned  himself,  rushed  from 
the  little  hell  straight  down  to  the  great  one,  and  made 
such  a  report  of  his  adventure  that  Lucifer  at  once  re- 
solves to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  landsknechte ; 
they  would  turn  hell  upside  down,  and  make  it  such  a 
place  that  no  decent  devil  would  be  content  to  live  there. 

The  best  known  of  Hans  Sachs's  poems  is  the  one  en- 
titled "  Saint  Peter  and  the  Goose,"  —  a  parable  de- 
signed to  rebuke  grumblers  who  fancy  that  the  world 
might  be  better  governed  than  it  is,  and  would  be  so  if 
they  had  the  ruling  of  it. 

When  Jesus  Christ  was  on  earth  he  was  walking  with 
Peter  in  the  country  one  day,  when  Peter  said  to  him  : 
"  Oh,  Lord  God  and  Master  mine,  I  wonder  greatly  at 
your  forbearance,  since  you  are  God  Almighty,  that  you 
let  things  go  on  as  they  do  in  the  world.  As  the  prophet 
Habakkuk  says,  '  crime  and  violence  are  instead  of 
right ;  the  ungodly  triumph  over  the  good  and  just.' 
False  doctrines  circulate  and  cross  each  other  like  the 
fish  in  the  sea  ;  there  is  wickedness  everywhere  among 
high  and  low ;  and  you  look  on  and  do  nothing,  as  if 
these  things  nowise  concerned  you,  and  you  did  not  care 
how  the  world  goes  on.  You  might  put  an  end  to  all 
this  evil,  if  you  would  only  take  hold  in  good  earnest  and 
exercise  your  sovereign  power.  Oh,  if  I  were  only  Lord 
God  for  a  year  and  had  your  omnipotence,  I  would  gov- 
ern after  a  very  different  fashion  ;  I  would  soon  stop  war 
and  fighting,  and  cheating  and  plunder,  and  establish  a 
quiet  life  on  the  earth."  The  Lord  said  to  Peter :  "  So 
you  think  you  could  exercise  a  wiser  and  juster  rule  than 
I ;  that  you  would  know  better  how  to  protect  the  good 
and  punish  the  wicked  ?  Well,  you  shall  make  the  trial. 
This  day  you  shall  be  Lord  God  in  my  place.     Do  and 


94  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ordain  what  you  will ;  be  hard  and  severe,  or  gentle  and 
mild ;  send  curses  or  blessings,  order  fine  weather  or 
wind  and  rain ;  you  may  punish  or  reward,  afflict  or  com- 
fort. In  short,  I  resign  my  whole  government  for  to-day 
into  your  hands."  And  therewith  the  Lord  gave  Peter 
liis  staff.  Whereat  the  disciple  was  greatly  rejoiced, 
thought  to  do  wonders  in  the  way  of  reform,  and  was 
meditating  where  to  begin,  when  there  came  along  a  poor 
woman,  emaciated,  pale,  in  tattered  garments,  driving 
her  one  goat  to  pasture.  When  she  came  to  the  cross- 
ing of  two  roads  she  said  to  the  goat,  "  Go  now,  in  God's 
name  !  May  He  protect  thee  that  thou  comest  to  no 
harm,  for  I  cannot  stay  to  watch  thee.  I  must  go  to  my 
day's  work,  or  my  children  will  have  no  bread."  So  the 
woman  went  back  to  the  village,  and  left  the  goat  to 
shift  for  itself.  Then  the  Lord  said  to  Peter,  "  Here 
now  is  your  opportunity.  You  heard  the  poor  woman's 
prayer,  how  she  besought  the  Lord  to  watch  over  her 
goat ;  you  are  supreme  Lord  for  to-day,  it  behooves  you 
to  answer  that  prayer."  So  Peter  followed  the  goat, 
resolved  that  no  harm  should  befall  it,  and  that  tlie 
woman  should  receive  her  own  again  safe  and  sound 
at  nightfall.  The  goat  was  lively ;  it  ran  hither  and 
thither,  up  hill  and  down,  into  bogs  and  thickets,  and 
Peter  after  it,  puffing  and  panting,  faithful  to  his 
charge.  The  day  was  hot  and  Peter  was  old,  unused  to 
such  efforts.  He  suffered  severely.  He  brought  the 
goat  back  safely  at  night,  but  so  hard  a  day  he  had 
never  known.  A  day's  fishing  was  sport  in  comparison. 
When  the  Lord  saw  him  he  laughed,  and  said,  "  Peter, 
would  you  like  to  retain  the  command  a  little  longer  ?  " 
And  Peter  answered,  "  Dear  Lord,  take  back  Thy  staff 
and  Thy  power,  I  have   no  desire  to  administer  Thy 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.       95 

government  longer.  Pardon  my  folly  !  I  see  that  all  my 
wisdom  scarcely  suffices  to  keep  a  goat  in  order." 

In  all  Hans  Sachs's  productions  there  is  a  serious  pur- 
pose and  a  moral  for  popular  use,  which  lies  sufficiently 
near  the  surface  ;  but  the  form  of  narrative  in  which  he 
is  most  successful  is  the  comic,  and  the  favorites  among 
his  poems  —  his  own  favorites,  evidently,  as  well  as 
his  readers'  —  are  the  class  of  pieces  which  he  entitles 
"  Scliwanke ;  "  jests  or  drolleries,  like  this  of  the  "  Little 
Tailor  " :  — 

A  tailor  was  in  the  habit  of  throwing  large  scraps  of 
cloth  to  the  mouse,  or  throwing  them  into  the  hell, — 
the  Germans  use  both  phrases  for  what  we  call  "  cabba- 
ging." One  night  he  dreams  that  the  Devil  shows  him  a 
monstrous  flag,  composed  of  all  the  scraps  he  has  cab- 
baged in  the  course  of  his  professional  life.  His  con- 
science takes  the  alarm,  and  he  solemnly  vows  in  the 
presence  of  his  journeymen  to  throw  no  more  scraps  to 
the  mouse.  For  a  time  he  desists  from  the  practice,  and 
honestly  restores  all  the  remnants  to  his  customers. 
But  at  length,  when  the  impression  of  his  dream  had 
grown  faint,  he  receives  a  piece  of  splendid  gold  brocade 
from  which  a  coat  is  to  be  cut,  and  he  cannot  resist  the 
temptation  to  cabbage  a  considerable  fragment.  His 
journeymen  remind  him  of  his  vow ;  but  he  pleads  in  ex- 
cuse that  in  the  flag  which  the  Devil  showed  him  in  his 
dream  there  was  no  brocade.  Finally  the  little  tailor 
dies ;  and  although  he  is  strictly  considered  no  fit  subject 
for  heaven,  he  pleads  so  piteously  that  Saint  Peter  in  the 
kindness  of  his  heart  smuggles  him  in  and  assigns  him 
a  corner  where  he  would  be  out  of  the  way  behind  the 
stove.  Sitting  there  and  looking  down  on  the  earth  one 
day,  he  espies  a  poor  woman  stealing  a  piece  of  cloth.    So 


96  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

he  creeps  from  behind  the  stove,  catches  up  the  Lord 
God's  footstool,  flings  it  at  the  woman,  fractures  her 
spine,  and  makes  her  a  cripple  for  life.  It  soon  transpires 
what  has  become  of  the  footstool,  and  the  Lord  says  to 
the  little  tailor :  "  You  miserable  scamp !  if  I  had  flung 
my  footstool  at  you  every  time  you  threw  a  piece  of  cloth 
to  the  mouse,  when  you  were  tailoring  down  there,  there 
would  n't  have  been  a  tile  left  in  the  roof  of  your  house, 
and  you  would  have  hobbled  on  crutches  with  a  broken 
back  all  the  days  of  your  life." 

That  Hans  Sachs  embraced  the  cause  of  the  Reformers 
in  the  great  schism  of  the  sixteenth  century  will  be  readily 
inferred  from  the  genuine  Deutseheit,  the  "Germanity," 
of  the  man.  He  welcomed  the  new  gospel  at  once  in  a 
poem  entitled  "  The  Wittenberg  Nightingale ; "  and  one 
of  the  finest  of  his  serious  pieces  is  a  threnody  on  Martin 
Luther,'  in  which  theology  personified  is  represented  as 
uttering  her  wail  over  the  dead  body  of  the  great  Doctor. 

As  a  proof  of  his  diligence  and  fecundity,  it  is  related 
that  in  the  three  hot  months  of  his  sixty-ninth  year,  in 
July,  August,  and  September  of  1563,  he  wrote  thirty- 
four  comic  pieces,  besides  several  spiritual  poems  and 
Meistergesange.  How  many  pairs  of  shoes  he  made 
during  the  same  period  is  not  recorded.  He  stopped 
writing,  overtaken  with  mental  decrepitude,  at  the  age 
of  eighty,  two  years  before  his  death,  having  composed 
in  the  fifty-five  years  of  his  intellectual  activity  two 
hundred  and  eight  tragedies  and  comedies,  seventeen 
hundred  stories  and  fables,  and  forty-two  hundred  Meis- 
tergesange, —  in  all,  six  thousand  and  forty-eight  pieces ; 
all  regularly  numbered,  and  signed  Hans  Sachs. 

Other  writers  of  distinction  who  flourished  in  this 
period,  including  a  part  of  the  fifteenth  together  with  the 


J^^iV^^^  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN.      97 

sixteenth  century,  are  Sebastian  Brandt,  famous  for  his 
satirical  poem  of  the  "  Narrenschiff  ; "  Thomas  Murner, 
an  opponent  of  the  Reformation,  which  he  satirized  in  a 
poem  called  "  The  Great  Lutheran  Fool  exorcised  by  Dr. 
Murner  ; "  and  Johann  Fischart,  author  of  the  "  Lucky 
Ship  from  Zurich." 

More  memorable  far  than  these,  historically  one  of 
the  foremost  figures  of  the  time,  and  one  of  Germany's 
noblest  sons,  was  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  brave  champion 
of  truth   and   freedom,  fellow-laborer  with  Luther,  al- 
though in   a   different  field  in  the  work  of  the  Refor- 
mation.    Hutten  was  born  on  the  21st  of  April,  1488, 
of  a  noble  Franconian  family,  in  their  ancestral  castle, 
Steckelberg   on  the  Main.     At   the   age   of  twelve   he 
was   sent  to  the   monastery   of  Fulda,  and   being  the 
fourth  of  several  sons  was  destined  by  his  father  for 
the  service  of  the  Church,  as  a  member  of  the  brother- 
hood of  that  ancient  Stift.     But  Ulrich's  genius  indi- 
cated a  different  calling ;  and  a  nobleman  of  influence, 
Eitelwolf  von  Stein,  who  had  noted  the  extraordinary 
talent  of  the  youth,  encouraged  his  refusal  to  take  the 
monastic  vows,  and  aided  his  escape   to  Cologne  and 
thence  to  the  newly  established  university  at  Frankfort, 
where  he  enjoyed  the  powerful  patronage  of  Albrecht  of 
Brandenburg,   afterward    Cardinal   and   Archbishop   of 
Mainz.     I  shall  not  undertake  to  follow  his  subsequent 
fortunes  as  writer  and  soldier  through  hardships  and 
dangers  in  Italy  and  Germany  during  the  first  decade  of 
the  sixteenth  century.    In  1515  he  started,  in  connection 
with  his  friend  Crotus  Rubianus,  the  celebrated  "Epistolse 
Obscurorum  Yirorum,"  aimed  at  the  Finsterlinge^  or  ob- 
scurantists,  of   Cologne.     Johann   Reuchlin,   in  whose 
interest  and  defence  the  satire  was  first  undertaken,  was 

7 


98  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

said  to  have  been  one  of  the  contributors,  but  recent  in- 
vestigation has  shown  that  neither  he  nor  Erasmus  had 
any  part  in  the  work.  But  Hutten  was  the  principal 
writer  of  those  pungent  attacks  which  aided  so  power- 
fully the  cause  of  the  Reformation  by  exposing  the  ig- 
norance, the  stupidity,  and  vices  of  the  clergy.  The 
excellence  of  his  latinity  in  this  and  other  publications 
won  for  him  the  admiration  of  the  scholars  of  the  day, 
and  notably  of  Erasmus  and  Melancthon.  Successful  in 
verse  as  in  prose,  he  was  crowned  with  a  laurel  wreath  at 
Augsburg  in  1517  by  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  as  poeta 
imperialis.  In  the  same  year,  in  his  paternal  castle  of 
Steckelberg,  he  edited  the  treatise  of  Laurentius  Valla, 
exposing  the  forgery  of  the  pretended  donation  of  Con- 
stantino to  the  bishops  of  Rome.  This  he  had  the  auda- 
city  to  dedicate  to  Pope  Leo  X.,  with  an  introduction  in 
which  he  lashed  the  vices  of  the  popes  generally,  and 
promised,  if  the  work  should  prove  acceptable  to  his  Ho- 
liness, to  follow  it  up  with  other  similar  presents.  He 
continued  to  write  satires  on  Rome  and  the  Church, 
which  induced  the  Pope  at  last  to  demand  of  Albrecht 
of  Mainz  the  arrest  of  Hutten,  who  was  to  be  sent  pris- 
oner to  Rome  for  trial  and  punishment.  But  Hutten, 
who  meanwhile  had  openly  espoused  the  cause  of  Luther, 
threw  himself  on  the  protection  of  the  imperial  Knight, 
Franz  von  Sickingen,  with  whose  aid  he  instituted  a 
league  of  the  Knights  of  the  Empire  against  their  spirit- 
ual oppressors.  He  declined  an  invitation  from  Francis 
I.  of  France  to  serve  under  the  French  Crown,  preferring 
to  abide  the  issue  of  the  evangelical  cause  in  Germany. 
In  1522  Franz  von  Sickingen,  having  made  war  on  the 
Archbishop  of  Treves,  was  obliged  to  succumb  to  the 
united  forces  of  the  Spiritual  Prince  and  those  of  the 


HANS  SACHS  AND  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN,      99 

Elector  of  the  Palatinate  and  of  Philip  of  Hessia.  Hut- 
ten  thus  lost  his  protector  and  fled  to  Basel,  where  he 
was  cordially  welcomed  by  the  most  distinguished  of  the 
laity,  except  his  former  friend  Erasmus,  whom  he  him- 
self had  advised  to  take  refuge  in  that  city,  and  who 
now  shunned  him  as  a  dangerous  acquaintance.  This, 
and  the  hostile  attitude  of  the  bishop  of  the  diocese,  in- 
duced him  to  quit  Basel  for  Zurich.  He  was  then  en- 
feebled by  disease,  and  needed  rest ;  but  Erasmus  was 
base  enough  to  write  to  the  Senate  of  Zurich  to  expel 
him  from  their  city.  By  the  aid  of  Zwingli  he  finally 
found  shelter  with  a  clergyman  skilled  in  medical  science 
on  the  island  Ufnau,  in  the  lake  of  Constance,  where 
he  died  the  victim  of  grief  and  disease  on  the  1st  of 
September,  1523,  in  the  thirty-sixth  year  of  his  age. 
"  Thither  repair,  young  tourist,"  says  Herder  in  his 
beautiful  memoir ;  "  seek  out  his  resting-place  and  say, 
'  Here  lies  the  defender  of  the  German  people,  of  liberty 
and  truth,  one  who  would  fain  have  been  something 
more  than  their  champion  in  words.  A  border-island 
has  furnished  him  an  unknown  grave.' "  His  monu- 
ment bearing  the  inscription  — 

"  Hie  eques  auratus  jacet  oratorque  disertus, 
Huttenus  vates,  carmine  et  ense  potens," 

is  no  longer  extant. 


100  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


CHAPTER   YIII. 

SEVENTEENTH   AND   EIGHTEENTH   CENTURIES. 

'^T^HE  seventeenth  century,  amid  all  the  wars  and 
J-  revolutions  which  thicken  the  annals  of  its  outer 
life,  is  marked,  if  we  look  within,  by  the  opposite  ele- 
ment of  quietism ;  by  an  introversive  turn  of  mind  which 
gave  to  that  stormy  age  the  deepest  mystics  of  modern 
time,  —  in  England,  George  Fox  and  his  followers,  espe- 
cially Barclay ;  in  France,  Madame  Guyon  and  Fenelon, 
and  Fere  Malebranche ;  in  Spain,  Molinos ;  in  Holland, 
Spinoza  ;  and  in  Germany,  prominent  among  others,  the 
great  theosopher  Jacob  Boehme,  to  whom  Schelling, 
deepest  thinker  of  the  Kantian  line,  is  indebted  for  many 
a  pregnant  hint,  and  Johann  Scheffler,  better  known  as 
Angelus  Silesius.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enlarge  on 
these  names.  I  mention  them,  —  and  others  might  be 
mentioned,  —  only  to  show  what  wealth  of  interior  spir- 
itual life  was  born  of  an  age  of  which  otherwise  the 
history  of  German  literature  makes  little  account.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  not  a  barren  age  which  produced  such  men 
as  Kepler,  Boehme,  and  Leibnitz.  But  of  literature  in 
the  narrower  sense,  of  artistic  literature,  Germany  in  all 
that  century  exhibits  nothing  of  supreme  mark,  —  not  a 
writer  in  verse  or  prose  of  world-wide  fame,  very  few  of 
whom  even  a  German  of  average  culture  would  be  likely 
to  know  more  than  the  name,  or  so  much  as  that.  And 
yet  that  period  abounds  in  second  and  third-class  poets 


SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.  101 

in  whose  compositions,  scattered  ijero-  a  ad  .there,  ar.e 
many  brave  hits,  bright  thoughts,  delicate  turns,  original 
conceits,  which  modern  poets  might  crib  with  ^ffec,t,i{?:a(!i 
their  readers  be  none  the  wiser  as  to  the  rights  of  author- 
ship. It  is  one  of  the  mishaps  of  literature  that  the  good 
things  of  the  minor  poets  drop  out  of  sight  and  mind,  — 
poets  famous  in  their  day,  on  the  strength  perhaps  of 
these  few  felicities,  but  whose  fame,  having  no  deepness 
of  earth,  matured  too  soon  and  perished  as  quickly. 
The  many  poor  things  they  wrote,  and  which  deserved 
to  be  forgotten,  dragged  their  few  good  things  down 
with  them  into  oblivion.  Germany  was  not  the  only 
country  in  which  the  seventeenth  century  produced  its 
crop  of  small  and  now  forgotten  poets.  The  difference 
between  it  and  other  countries  consists  not  so  much  in 
the  multitude  of  small  poets  as  in  the  absence  of  any 
great  one.  England  had  during  that  period  her  Milton, 
her  Cowley,  and  her  Waller.  Dryden,  Marvel,  and 
Suckling  are  all  familiar  names.  Perhaps  we  have 
read  Denham,  but  few  know  anything  of  Rochester, 
Roscommon,  Pomfret,  Dorset,  Philips,  Halifax. 

The  best  German  poets  of  the  seventeenth  century 
seem  to  have  been  the  writers  of  sacred  lyrics.  Their 
numl)er  is  amazing.  Franz  Horn  mentions  a  collection 
in  three  hundred  volumes,  containing  33,712  hymns. 
Many  of  these  hymns  have  won  for  themselves  a  per- 
manent place  in  German  hymn-books,  and  some  of  them 
have  found  their  way  into  English  collections.  Sir  Henry 
Wotton,  if  I  remember  rightly,  is  indebted  to  a  German 
original  for  his 

"  How  happy  is  he  born  or  taught." 
The  well  known  hymns  — 


102  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

*'  O  sacred  head  now  wounded," 
"  Give  to  the  winds  thy  fears," 

are  both  translations  from  Paul  Gerhard.     So  is 

*'  Evening  and  morning,  sunset  and  dawning, 
Wealth,  peace,  and  gladness,  comfort  in  sadness." 

From  Herzog  we  have  — 

"  In  mercy.  Lord,  remember  me; 
Be  with  me  through  this  night." 

From  Rosenroth: 

"  Dayspring  of  eternity. 
Dawn  on  us  this  morning  tide !  " 

From  Rodigast: 

"  Whate'er  my  God  ordains  is  right." 

From  Scheffler : 

*'  Thee  would  I  love,  my  strength,  my  tower." 

This  last  named  hymnist  demands,  among  German 
poets  of  the  seventeenth  century,  particular  notice. 
Johann  Scheffler,  commonly  called  Angelus  Silesius,  was 
born  in  1624  at  Breslau  in  Silesia,  where  he  died  in  1677. 
A  physician  by  profession,  and  bearing  the  high  title  of 
"  imperial  court  physician,"  he  was  yet  best  known  to 
his  contemporaries,  as  he  is  to  posterity,  as  theologian 
and  poet.  He  studied  a  year  at  Strasburg,  then  went  to 
Leyden  in  Holland,  where  he  spent  several  years.  While 
there  he  was  admitted  to  the  fellowship  of  "  Students  of 
Secret  Wisdom,"  as  they  were  called,  and  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  writings  of  Jacob  Boehme,  which  had 
been  carried  thither  for  publication  by  Scheffler's  towns- 
man and  subsequent  patron,  Abraham  Frank,  the  pub- 
lication of  them  in  Germany  having  been  forbidden  by 
clerical  authority.     They  confirmed  in  Sclieffler  a  tend- 


SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.  103 

ency  to  mysticism,  for  which  he  seems  to  have  had,  from 
early  youth,  a  strong  predisposition.  On  his  return  to 
his  native  city,  his  peculiar  opinions,  together  with  his 
neglect  of  the  formal  observances  of  the  Church,  brought 
him  into  conflict  with  the  Lutheran  clergy,  who  perse- 
cuted him  as  a  heretic  and  an  unbeliever.  A  Lutheran 
by  birth,  he  was  driven  by  the  harsh  treatment  of  his 
fellow  confessors  to  join  the  Catholic  Church,  in  whose 
less  dogmatic  sanctuary  he  found  ample  toleration,  and 
of  which  he  thenceforth  became  a  zealous  champion  and 
even  priest. 

This  is  all  that  need  be  told  of  his  external  history. 
His  literary  life  was  equally  divided  between  contro- 
versial theology  and  the  composition  of  poems,  partly 
devotional  and  partly  mystical.  From  the  latter  I  se- 
lect the  following  verses  as  exhibiting  the  extravagant 
boldness  of  his  thought  rather  than  the  excellence  of 
his  poetic  gift.  They  are  from  Hunt's  "  Essay  on 
Pantheism  "  :  — 

*'  God  in  my  nature  is  involved,  as  I  in  the  Divine; 
1  help  to  make  His  being  up  as  much  as  He  does  mine. 
As  much  as  I  to  God,  owes  God  to  me,  — 
His  blissfulness  and  self-sufficiency. 
I  am  as  rich  as  God,  —  no  grain  of  dust 
That  is  not  mine  too;  share  with  me  He  must. 
I  am  as  great  as  God  and  He  as  small  as  I; 
He  cannot  me  surpass,  or  I  beneath  Him  lie. 
God  cannot  without  me  a  moment's  space  endure; 
Were  I  to  be  destroyed,  then  God  would  be  no  more." 

*'  While  aught  thou  art,  or  know'st  or  lov'st  or  hast, 
So  long,  believe  me,  will  thy  burden  last. 
Rise  above  time  and  space,  and  thou  canst  be 
At  any  moment  in  eternity. 
Eternity  and  time,  time  and  eternity. 
Are  in  themselves  alike,  —  the  difference  is  in  thee. 


104  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

'Tis  thou  thyself  mak'st  time,  the  clock-work  is  thy  sense; 
If  thou  but  drop'st  the  spring,  then  time  will  vanish  hence. 
Think  not  the  world  will  fade:  the  world  will  not  decay, 
The  darkness  of  the  world  alone  will  pass  away.'* 

"  I  see  in  God  both  God  and  man; 
He,  man  and  God  in  me. 
I  quench  His  thirst,  and  He,  in  tuin. 
Helps  my  necessity.'' 

Three  other  poets  of  this  period,  distinguished  among 
the  crowd  of  hymn-writers,  I  would  like  to  present,  but 
can  only  name,  —  Paul  Flemming,  born  in  1609,  died  in 
1640  ;  Andreas  Gryphius,  born  in  1631,  died  in  1664 ; 
and  Joachim  Neander,  born  in  1620,  died  in  1680. 

I  pass  by  these  to  speak  of  Opitz,  who  preceded  them 
in  time,  and  who,  with  less  of  poetic  feeling,  marks  an 
epoch  in  German  literature  as  the  first  to  establish 
metrical  rules. 

Martin  Opitz  von  Boberfeld  (this  title  of  nobility  he 
received  from  the  Emperor  Ferdinand  II.)  was  called  by 
his  contemporaries  and  by  writers  of  the  next  genera- 
tion the  German  Orpheus,  the  Father  and  Restorer  of 
German  poetry,  the  Pindar,  the  Homer,  the  Virgil,  of 
his  time.  The  German  Muse  was  called  after  him  the 
"  Opizinne."  If  we  seek  to  legitimate  these  praises  by 
a  nearer  acquaintance  with  the  man,  we  find  a  scholar 
of  wide  culture,  a  courtier  of  commanding  graces,  but 
by  no  means  a  poet  in  any  high  sense  of  the  term  ;  a 
man  whose  life  was  spent  in  going  about  from  place  to 
place,  winning  patrons  and  honors  by  adroit  adulation, 
forming  personal  connections  with  the  great  of  his  day 
at  home  and  abroad ;  the  friend  of  scholars,  among 
others  of  Hugo  Grotius,  whose  "  Evidences  of  the  True 
Religion,"  written  in  Dutch,  he  translated  into  German; 


SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.  105 

the  favored  of  nobles  and  kings,  to  whom  he  addressed 
poetic  gratulations  of  unctuous  smoothness  ;  laurel- 
crowned,  though  a  Protestant,  by  the  Catholic  emperor, 
his  chief  patron  ;  and  writing,  besides  the  gratula- 
tions just  mentioned,  various  poems  which  his  con- 
temporaries esteemed  the  last  efforts  of  poetic  art,  but 
which  recent  critics  pronounce  exceedingly  flat.  Gervi- 
nus,  the  best  historian  of  German  poetry,  ascribes  his 
high  repute  to  a  fawning  servility,  which  stooped  to  the 
smallest  among  the  living,  while  it  scrupled  not  to 
asperse  the  greatest  among  the  dead.  Vilmar  portrays 
him  as  one  of  those  men  of  mediocre  talent,  who  are 
skilled  in  appropriating  and  bringing  to  market  the 
intellectual  element  of  their  day  ;  who  possess  them- 
selves of  the  current  catchword  and  use  it  effectively  ; 
who  are  not  so  far  above  the  great  mass  that  the  aver- 
age mind  cannot  find  itself  in  them,  and  who,  by 
fawning  on  the  great  and  sailing  with  every  wind, 
know  how  to  secure  the  good-will  of  all,  —  one  of  that 
weak,  good-natured,  conceited  kind,  whom  a  strong  age 
despises  and  a  weak  one  exalts. 

Thus  the  poetic  idol  of  the  seventeenth  century  is 
made  the  butt  of  the  nineteenth.  I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  modern  criticism  is  not  as  excessive  in  its  deprecia- 
tion as  that  of  the  elders  was  in  its  panegyric.  After 
all,  there  must  have  been  real  merit  in  one  who  in  any 
age  could  win  such  fame.  The  merit  of  Opitz  was  two- 
fold. In  the  first  place,  he  did  good  service  by  vindi- 
cating against  all  its  contemners  the  claims  of  the 
German  language,  and  commending  its  use  to  scholars 
and  writers  who,  until  then,  had  thought  Latin  the  only 
fit  medium  of  literary  communication,  and  had  used  only 
that.     His  other  and  chief  merit,  which  even  Yilmar 


106  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

concedes  to  him.  is  a  radical  reform  of  German  metrical 
art.  His  predecessors  had  written  verses  measured  by 
the  number  of  syllables,  with  no  regard  to  rise  and  fall, 

—  what  the  Latins  call  arsis  and  thesis,  and  the  Ger- 
mans Hehung  and  Senhung,  —  which  often,  as  in  Hans 
Sachs,  had  a  very  unrhythmical  effect.  Opitz,  in  1624, 
published  a  work  entitled  "  Die  deutscbe  Poeterei," 
which,  as  Vilmar  says,  dates  the  beginning  of  a  new 
era  of  poetry.  "  It  marks,  as  few  books  in  the  world 
have    done,   the   initiation   of   a  new   linguistic   sense, 

—  Sprachbewusstseins.  It  was  the  word  which  all 
were  seeking,  which  all  were  endeavoring  to  utter,  but 
which  none  had  succeeded  in  doing.  Opitz  hit  it,  and 
the  world  repeated  it  after  him,  and  repeats  it  to  this 
day.  ...  It  divided  forever  the  poetry  of  the  old  time 
from  that  of  the  new."  Surely,  this  is  sufficient  —  this 
improvement  in  the  form,  in  spite  of  all  defects  in  the 
matter  —  to  immortalize  any  name.  The  doctrine  laid 
down  by  Opitz,  and  straightway  accepted,  was  that  Ger- 
man verses,  like  those  of  the  ancients,  must  have  due 
respect  to  quantity  in  their  metrical  movement;  there 
must  be  a  regular  alternation  of  rise  and  fall,  long  syl- 
lables and  short,  corresponding  with  the  natural  accent 
of  the  words,  —  regular  iambuses  and  trochees.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  rejected  dactyls,  to  which  the  German 
language  so  readily  adapts  itself,  —  witness  Schiller's 
"  Windet  zum  Kranze  die  goldenen  Aehren,"  —  and 
with  them,  of  course,  the  anapest  and  the  amphibrach. 
Moreover,  he  sinned,  they  say,  in  transplanting  from 
the  French  the  cumbrous  Alexandrine  ;  and  worse  still, 
he  sinned,  as  Yilmar  thinks,  in  repudiating  the  old  Ger- 
man combinations,  where  the  adjective  follows  the  noun, 

—  das  Milndlein   roth,   and  die  Hdndlein  weiss  ("  the 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  107 

little  mouth  red;"  "the  little  hands  white").  That 
would  not  do ;  it  must  be  "  the  little  red  mouth,"  and 
"  the  little  white  hands."  And  "  the  little  red  mouth  " 
and  "the  little  white  hands"  it  has  been  in  German 
poetry,  with  few  exceptions,  ever  since, — to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  purists,  and  much  to  the  disgust  of  all  lovers 
of  the  mediaeval  Muse. 

There  is  little  else  that  need  detain  us  in  that  seven- 
teenth century  when,  amid  the  thunder  and  smoke 
of  many  a  battle-field,  out  of  darkness  and  chaos,  a 
new  intellectual  Germany  was  struggling  into  life. 
Passing  on  to  the  eighteenth  century,  we  are  met  on 
its  threshold  by  the  ever-honored  name  of  one  who, 
though  chiefly  known  as  naturalist,  physiologist,  and 
therapeutist,  holds  also  a  distinguished  place  in  German 
literature  as  one  of  the  foremost  poets  of  his  day. 

Albrecht  von  Haller,  born  1708,  a  native  of  Bern, 
Swiss  by  birth,  but  German  by  speech  and  pen,  was 
one  of  those  intellectual  prodigies  which  suggest  an 
exceptional  brain,  a  power  of  cerebration  which  only 
by  an  occasional  freak  of  nature  falls  to  the  lot  of  man. 
At  the  age  of  ten  he  is  said  to  have  compiled  a 
Chaldee  grammar,  a  Greek  and  Hebrew  dictionary,  and 
two  thousand  biographical  compends,  drawn  from  such 
sources  as  were  then  at  his  command.  Latin  he  had 
already  mastered,  having  begun  it  at  the  age  of  six.  In 
maturer  years,  besides  his  great  scientific  works  on 
which  his  fame  chiefly  rests,  —  his  "  Elements  of  Physi- 
ology," his  six  volumes  of  "Prelections,"  and  his  ten 
quarto  volumes,  or  what  he  called  libraries  (bibliothe- 
cae)  of  botany,  anatomy,  chirurgy,  and  practical  medi- 
cine,—  besides  these,  he   contributed  twelve  thousand 


108  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

articles  to  the  "  Gottinger  Gelehrte  Anzeigen,"  a  peri- 
odical of  which  for  many  years  he  was  editor.  These 
tasks  he  performed  while  holding  various  offices,  —  aca- 
demic, civil,  and  political,  —  first  at  Gottingen,  then  at 
Bern,  involving  more  or  less  labor,  responsibility,  and 
care,  and  while  carrying  on  a  correspondence  in  five 
different  languages  with  all  the  savans  and  learned 
societies  of  Europe,  of  nearly  all  of  which  he  was  a 
member.  His  literary  works,  as  distinguished  from  his 
scientific,  —  his  "  Letters  to  his  Daughter  on  the  Truths 
of  Christianity,"  which  were  translated  into  English  ; 
his  "  Letters  on  Free-thinking,"  against  the  French  phi- 
losophers ;  his  novels,  of  which  he  wrote  three  ;  and 
last  of  all,  his  poems,  —  the  best  German  poems,  as  I 
have  said,  of  his  age,  —  these  were  the  asides,  the  recre- 
ations of  his  leisure  hours.  Where  the  leisure  came  in, 
seeing  he  was  also  a  practising  physician,  it  is  difficult 
to  say. 

Of  immense  importance  was  Haller  to  the  newly- 
established  University  of  Gottingen,  to  which  he  was 
called  by  George  11. ,  from  whom  the  university  took 
its  name  of  Georgia  Augusta.  It  owed  to  him  its  bo- 
tanical garden,  its  anatomical  theatre,  its  obstetrical 
school,  and,  above  all,  its  early  fame.  During  seventeen 
years,  —  the  best  of  his  active  life,  —  he  devoted  himself 
to  the  service  of  that  university,  declining  an  invitation 
which  he  received  in  1747  to  a  chair  in  the  University 
of  Oxford.  In  1753,  at  the  age  of  forty-five,  he  resigned 
his  post,  and  retired  to  his  native  city  of  Bern,  where 
the  Republic  secured  his  residence  by  a  pension,  which 
relieved  him  of  all  pecuniary  trouble,  and  where  the 
remainder  of  his  days  was  spent  in  ceaseless  literary 
and  scientific  labors. 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY,  109 

Of  von  Haller's  poems,  the  most  successful  are  his 
lyrical  pieces,  which  in  point  of  diction  and  mechanical 
finish,  if  not  of  poetic  feeling,  are  greatly  superior  to 
most  of  the  poetry  of  his  day.  The  most  striking  of 
these  is  the  threnody  on  the  death  of  his  first  wife,  of 
which  there  is  a  spirited  Italian  version.  The  passionate 
grief  of  the  widower  would  seem  to  have  exhausted  itself 
in  this  effusion.  At  any  rate,  he  soon  married  a  second 
wife,  whose  death  he  bewailed  in  more  moderate  strains. 
The  third  is  supposed  to  have  survived  him.  He  died 
at  the  age  of  sixty-nine,  in  1777. 

Here  was  a  man  who  knew  how  to  live,  —  whose  com- 
plete record  illustrates  the  vast  capabilities  and  infinite 
value  of  life.  A  sickly  child,  at  no  time  enjoying  full 
health,  he  filled  —  he  crammed  to  the  uttermost  —  with 
learning  and  doing  his  span  of  years.  And  what  is 
still  rarer,  he  knew  when  to  die,  —  which  he  did  not  a 
day  too  soon,  nor  a  day  too  late.  Not  a  day  too  soon, 
for  his  work  was  finished  and  complete ;  not  a  day  too 
late,  for  he  died  at  his  best.  And  the  manner  of  his 
death  befitted  such,  a  life.  Philosophically  curious  to 
the  last,  conversing  with  his  physician,  with  his  finger 
on  his  own  wrist,  watching,  as  though  it  were  anoth- 
er's, the  ebbing  pulse,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  It  has 
stopped  ! "  —  and  he  died. 

Contemporary  with  Haller  was  Hagedorn,  whose 
graceful  lyrics  are  still  admired  by  the  curious,  but 
who  wrote  too  little  to  leave  a  decided  impress  on  his 
time. 

Contemporary  with  Haller  was  also  his  fellow-towns- 
man John  Jacob  Bodmer,  founder  of  what  is  called  the 
Swiss  School.  Like  Haller,  Bodmer  was  a  man  of  un- 
tiring industry.     His  principal  work,  "The  Noachid,'' 


110  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

is  a  poem  in  twelve  books,  in  which  are  gathered  around 
the  central  figure  of  Noah  divers  narratives  and  pic- 
tures of  patriarchal  time.  Besides  this  and  many  other 
original  works  in  poetry  and  prose,  he  translated  Homer, 
translated  the  "Argonautae  of  Apollonius,"  Milton's 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  Butler's  "  Hudibras,"  Pope's  "  Dun- 
ciad,"  and  edited  from  old  manuscripts  portions  of  the 
Nibelungenlied,  "  Baarlam  und  Josaphat,"  and  a  collec- 
tion of  the  Minnesingers,  representing  one  hundred  and 
forty  poets,  with  accompanying  glossaries.  It  is  true 
he  had  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  do  all  this,  for  he 
lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-five,  dying  in  1783. 

His  great  work,  "  The  Noachid,"  has  had  little  suc- 
cess. The  critics  complained  that  what  with  "  The 
Noachid  "  and  Gessner's  "  Pictures  of  the  Deluge,"  Ger- 
man literature  was  water-logged  during  that  period,  — 
since  known  as  the  "  period  of  the  deluge,"  or  the  "  water 
epoch."  A  fatality  attends  the  success  and  non-success 
of  books,  whereby  this  of  Bodmer  has  not  received,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  the  credit  it  deserves.  But  time  is 
judge,  if  not  of  merit,  yet  of  fortune.  The  verdict  of  a 
century  is  not  to  be  set  aside.  The  oblivion  which  soon 
overtook  "  The  Noachid "  has  deepened  with  the  lapse 
of  years.  The  poetic  Noah,  unlike  his  prototype,  went 
down  with  his  flood. 

The  best  known  writer  of  the  Swiss  School  is  Salomon 
Gessner,  born  in  1730.  His  Idyls  had  a  large  circula- 
tion in  their  day ;  they  were  translated  into  several  Eu- 
ropean languages,  and  especially  admired  in  France, 
for  the  same  reason,  perhaps,  which  made  the  fortune 
of  Saint-Pierre's  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  —  their  contrast 
with  the  highly-spiced  sensational  fiction  which  then 
prevailed.     It  was  milk  diet  to  a  stomach  whose  diges- 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  HI 

tion  had  been  impaired  by  ragouts  and  piquant  salads. 
Milk  tempered  with  water  best  expresses  the  character 
of  those  innocent  idyls.  Gessner  was  a  painter,  and  his 
descriptions  of  natural  scenery  reflect  the  author's  skill 
with  the  brush ;  but  the  personages  are  bloodless,  and 
their  talk  insipid.  Lord  Byron  relates  that  his  German 
master  gave  him  Gessner's  "  Death  of  Abel "  to  begin 
the  study  of  the  language  with ;  and  he  wickedly  adds, 
that  the  impression  made  on  him  was  that  Cain  de- 
served the  thanks  of  mankind  for  ridding  the  world 
of  such  a  sheepish  and  utterly  feeble  character. 

Leaving  Switzerland  and  the  Swiss  School,  we  en- 
counter the  life-long  opponent  of  that  school,  John 
Christopher  Gottsched,  born  in  1700,  in  Juditenkirch, 
near  Konigsberg.  Having  studied  in  the  University  of 
Konigsberg,  he  betook  himself,  in  his  twenty-fifth  year, 
to  Leipsic,  where  he  was  eventually  made  professor,  and 
where  he  founded,  in  opposition  to  the  Swiss  School 
at  Zurich,  represented  by  Bodmer  and  Breitinger,  the 
Leipsic  School  of  Letters,  styled  *'  Die  Leipziger  deutsche 
Gesellschaft."  Devoid  of  all  poetic  talent,  with  no  cre- 
ative power,  —  limited,  bigoted,  vapid,  —  he  yet,  by  dint 
of  self-confident  assumption,  with  the  aid  of  his  wife 
(Ludovica  Adelgunde  Victoria,  the  better  head  of  the 
two),  reigned  for  twenty  years  the  literary  dictator  of 
Germany.  He  prescribed  to  his  countrymen,  as  mod- 
els for  imitation,  the  French  writers  of  the  age  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  laid  down  the  law  of  literary  compo- 
sition in  several  successive  journals,  in  which  he  waged 
war  against  the  Swiss  School,  and  also  against  the  new 
direction  taken  by  Klopstock  and  his  followers.  He 
outlived  his  wife,  and,  with  her,  his  authority.  De- 
throned by  younger  and  more  commanding  talent,  left 


112  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

higli-and-dry  by  the  progress  of  literary  taste,  he  died 
neglected  and  forgotten  at  the  age  of  sixty-six. 

The  measure  of  Gottsched's  critical  ability  may  be 
inferred  from  his  attempt  to  write  down  Milton,  whose 
"  Paradise  Lost  "  had  just  appeared  in  a  German  trans- 
lation by  Bodmer.  Gottsched  sagely  prophesied  that 
the  fame  of  the  British  poet  would  be  short-lived,  and 
gave  his  reasons  for  so  thinking,  which  amount  to  this, 
—  that  Gottsched  did  not  like  Milton.  And  the  reason 
that  Gottsched  did  not  like  Milton  was,  that  the  trans- 
lation of  "  Paradise  Lost "  was  the  product  of  the  Swiss 
School.  He  also  sneered  at  Shakspeare,  who  had  the  bad 
taste  to  bring  witches  on  the  stage. 

Carlyle  tells  us  that  in  "  Pinkerton's  Geography,"  un- 
der the  head  of  Germany,  Gottsched  is  named  as  the 
sole  representative  of  German  literature,  — "  he,"  it  is 
said,  "  having  first  introduced  a  purer  style."  The  date 
of  "  Pinkerton's  Geography  "  was  1811,  six  years  after 
the  death  of  Schiller. 

One  merit  must  be  conceded  to  Gottsched,  and  is 
recognized  by  native  writers;  namely,  this,  —  that  he 
purged  the  language  of  foreign  idioms,  and  in  this  sense 
introduced  a  purer  style.  It  is  also  recorded  in  his 
praise  that  he  improved  the  stage  by  ruling  out  the  tra~ 
ditional  Hanswurst,  and  that  he  made  a  collection  of 
all  the  old  plays  preparatory  to  a  history  of  German 
dramatic  art. 

From  contemporary  notices  one  is  tempted  to  believe 
that  Gottsched  owed  something  of  his  authority  to  his 
bodily  stature,  which  was  very  imposing.  This  is  said 
to  have  been  his  reason  for  quitting  Konigsberg.  As  a 
Prussian  subject,  having  reached  his  full  growth  and 
finished  his  academic  studies,  he  found  himself  imper- 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  113 

illed  by  Frederic  William's  passion  for  tall  men.  So  he 
fled  to  Leipsic  to  avoid  being  kidnapped  and  enrolled  in 
the  royal  body-guard.  Goethe  records  a  visit  which  he 
paid  him,  when  a  student  at  Leipsic,  in  company  with 
Schlosser :  — 

"We  seat  in  our  names.  The  servant  led  us  into  a  spa- 
cious room,  saying  that  his  master  would  immediately  appear. 
Whether  we  misunderstood  a  motion  which  he  made  I  cannot 
say ;  enough,  we  supposed  that  he  motioned  us  into  an  adjoin- 
ing room.  We  entered  upon  a  strange  scene ;  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Gottsched,  the  great,  broad,  gigantic  man,  clad  in  a  green 
damask  dressing-gown,  with  red  sarcenet  lining,  came  in  at  the 
opposite  door,  but  his  enormous  head  was  bald,  and  without 
any  covering.  That  defect,  however,  was  to  be  remedied ;  the 
servant  rushed  in  by  a  side-door  with  a  great  full-bottomed  wig 
on  his  hand,  the  curls  reaching  down  to  his  elbow,  and  with  a 
frightened  look  handed  the  head-dress  to  his  master.  Gottsched, 
without  expressing  the  least  vexation,  with  his  left  hand  lifted 
the  wig  from  the  arm  of  his  servant  and  tossed  it  dexterously 
on  his  head,  while  with  his  right  paw  he  gave  the  poor  fellow  a 
box  on  the  ear,  which  sent  him  tumbling  and  spinning,  as  one 
sees  it  in  a  comedy,  out  of  the  door ;  whereupon  the  venerable 
patriarch  urged  us  to  sit  down,  and  with  good  grace  carried  on 
a  long  conversation." 

The  literary  sovereignty  assumed  by  Gottsched,  and 
maintained  for  years  by  dint  of  vigorous  self-assertion, 
fell  naturally,  by  right  of  superior  gifts,  to  Gellert,  his 
successor,  to  whom  it  was  freely  conceded  by  his  fellow- 
citizens. 

Christian  Fiirchtegott  Gellert,  from  the  middle  until 
near  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  was  decidedly 
Germany's  most  popular  writer,  and  long  after  Goethe 
and  Schiller  had  appeared  on  the  stage,  still  commanded 
the  votes  of  a  large  portion  of  his  countrymen.     I  well 

8 


114  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

remember,  as  a  youth  in  Germany,  hearing  him  pre- 
ferred to  either  of  those  poets.  This  preference  was 
partly  due  to  the  popularity  of  that  species  of  composi- 
tion in  which  he  excelled,  —  rhymed  fables,  which  enter- 
tain without  taxing  the  common  mind,  —  and  partly  to 
the  wholesome  moral  tone  which  breathes  through  all 
his  writings.  The  veneration  felt  for  the  good  man's 
character  reinforced  his  literary  fame.  He  is  styled  by 
his  biographer,  Cramer,  the  Epicharmos  of  Germany. 
The  comparison  is  a  bold  one,  considering  the  high  posi- 
tion accorded  to  Epicharmos  of  Megara,  the  Pythagorean 
and  comedian,  by  Greek  authorities.  Cramer  grounds 
it  on  the  words  which  occur  in  the  epitaph  on  Epichar- 
mos,—  "  His  teachings  were  profitable  for  the  young." 

Gellert  was  born  in  Haynichen,  in  Saxony,  in  1715, 
the  son  of  Christian  Gellert,  a  clergyman  of  the  town, 
remarkable  for  his  piety  and  his  numerous  offspring. 
A  poor  provincial  parson,  with  a  small  salary,  and  thir- 
teen children  to  provide  for,  could  do  little  beyond  his 
own  teaching  for  the  education  of  any  one  of  them. 
Nevertheless,  with  the  aid  of  State  funds  and  other 
beneficiary  provisions,  Fiirchtegott,  the  most  promising, 
was  prepared  for  college  at  Meissen,  and  studied  the- 
ology and  philosophy  at  Leipsic,  where,  having  failed 
as  a  preacher  through  unconquerable  shyness  and  de- 
fective elocution,  he  obtained,  in  1745,  the  venia  docendi^ 
and  in  1751  the  position  of  professor  extraordinarius  of 
moral  philosophy,  with  a  salary  of  one  hundred  dollars. 
This,  on  his  subsequent  promotion  to  the  post  of  pro- 
fessor ordinarius,  was  increased  to  a  sum  sufficient  for 
the  moderate  wants  of  a  man  without  a  family. 

The  ancient  University  of  Leipsic  has  had  in  all  her 
annals  no  professor  more  honored   and  beloved,  and 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  115 

none  more  deserving,  —  none  who  exercised  a  more 
searching  and  salutary  influence  on  his  pupils.  His 
piety  free  from  cant,  his  benevolence  unwearied  in  well- 
doing, his  unaffected  humility,  his  kind  and  gracious 
manner  compelled  the  reverence  and  won  the  enthusiastic 
homage  of  the  youth  of  the  University.  The  largest 
auditorium  in  the  city  was  scarcely  sufficient  to  accom- 
modate the  students  who  thronged  to  his  lectures. 
Goethe,  who  was  one  of  his  hearers  in  1765,  speaks  with 
tenderness  and  respect  of  the  saintly  man,  and  passes 
lightly  over  certain  weaknesses  which  a  scrutinizing 
criticism  might  detect  in  his  character  and  manner. 

But  Gellert's  influence  extended  far  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  University.  He  was,  as  I  have  said,  the  most 
popular  writer  of  his  time ;  and  in  spite  of  great  phy- 
sical infirmity  and  unremitting  disease,  he  wrote  in- 
cessantly and  in  various  kinds,  —  lyrics,  plays,  novels, 
articles  in  the  magazines  of  the  day,  lectures,  poetic 
epistles,  but,  above  all,  fables.  He  had  chosen  for  his 
thesis,  on  taking  honors  in  the  University,  "  The  Fable 
in  Poetry,  and  the  Principal  Fabulists,"  thus  indicating 
the  early  bent  of  his  mind  in  that  direction.  His  Fables 
passed  through  one  edition  after  another  in  rapid  suc- 
cession, and  pervaded  the  European  world.  They  were 
translated  into  many  languages,  —  Russian,  Danish, 
Dutch,  Italian,  and  by  six  different  hands  into  French. 
Their  popularity  at  home,  among  even  —  nay,  especially 
among  —  the  unlettered  classes,  appears  from  an  anec- 
dote related  by  Cramer.  A  Saxon  peasant,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  a  hard  winter,  grateful  for  the  pleasure  he 
had  derived  from  Gellert's  Fables,  came  to  Leipsic  one 
day  with  a  load  of  wood,  halted  at  the  Professor's  door, 
and  asked,  "  Is  this  the  Herr  who  makes  such  beautiful 


116  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

fables  ?  "  And  then,  with  many  apologies  for  the  lib- 
erty he  was  taking,  requested  the  acceptance  of  a  load 
of  wood  as  a  token  of  his  gratitude.  More  significant 
still  is  the  fact  that  General  Hiilsen,  in  the  Seven  Years' 
War,  spared  Gellert's  native  town  Haynichen  with  the 
billeting  of  soldiers,  out  of  respect  for  the  poet. 

His  popularity  at  home  is  easily  accounted  for.  It  is 
due  in  part  to  the  long  poetic  drought  which  he  some- 
what relieved  with  his  watering-pot.  But  why  those 
Fables  should  have  found  such  acceptance  abroad  it  is 
not  easy  to  explain.  They  have  none  of  the  sprightli- 
ness  of  Lafontaine,  or  the  pith  of  Gay ;  the  style  is  je- 
june, the  invention  mostly  weak.  It  must  have  been 
the  moral  they  enforced  that  won  for  them  such  wide 
acceptance.  Here  is  a  specimen,  which  he  seems  to 
have  considered  one  of  his  best :  — 

"  A  wise  painter  in  Athens,  who  painted  less  for  money  than 
for  fame,  once  exhibited  to  a  connoisseur  a  picture  of  Mars,  and 
asked  his  judgment  upon  it.  The  connoisseur  told  him  frankly 
that  he  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  picture ;  it  was  too 
labored,  —  there  should  be  less  appearance  of  art  in  it.  The 
painter  demurred ;  the  connoisseur  argued  the  matter  on  criti- 
cal grounds,  but  could  not  convince  him.  Just  then  a  young 
coxcomb  entered,  looked  at  the  picture,  and  exclaimed,  at  first 
sight,  '  Ye  gods  !  what  a  masterpiece !  Oh,  what  a  foot !  how 
skilfully  the  nails  are  rendered !  It  is  the  living  Mars  himself  ! 
How  the  helmet  shines !  and  the  shield,  and  the  armor ! '  The 
painter  was  ashamed;  he  cast  a  piteous  glance  at  the  con- 
noisseur. *Now,'  said  he,  *I  am  convinced;  you  have  not 
overstated.'  As  soon  as  the  coxcomb  was  gone,  he  rubbed  out 
the  god  of  war. 

^' Moral:  If  your  writing  does  not  satisfy  a  connoisseur, 
that  in  itself  is  a  bad  sign ;  but  when  fools  praise  it,  then  it 
is  time  to  suppress  it." 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY,  '    117 

The  reigning  king  of  Prussia,  Frederick  the  Great, 
whose  tastes  had  been  formed  on  French  models,  enter- 
tained a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  German  language 
and  literature ;  but  so  much  was  said  to  him  about  Gel- 
lert,  that  he  wished  to  see  the  man  whom  everybody 
praised,  and  accordingly  sent  for  him,  and  asked  him  to 
repeat  one  of  his  fables,  addressing  him  throughout  the 
interview  in  the  third  person  singular,  —  a  mode  of 
speech  which  was  formerly  used  in  addressing  servants, 
and  the  use  of  which  implies  a  sense  of  superiority  in 
the  speaker  and  contempt  for  the  hearer,  not  represent- 
able  in  English.  Gellert  recited  the  fable  I  have  just 
given.  When  the  recitation  was  finished,  the  monarch 
expressed  himself  pleased.  "  I  had  not  supposed  that 
a  German  could  do  anything  so  good.  Where  did 
you  learn  to  write  so  ?  "  "  In  the  school  of  Nature." 
"  Have  you  imitated  Lafontaine  ?  "  "  No,  your  Majesty, 
I  am  an  original ;  but  I  cannot  say  whether  I  am  a  good 
one."  "  Nay  !  I  must  praise  you.  You  shall  come  to 
me  again ;  put  your  Fables  in  your  pocket,  and  read  me 
some  of  them."  So  the  interview  ended.  Soon  after, 
the  King,  referring  to  it,  said :  "  C'est  le  plus  raisonable 
de  tons  les  savants  allemands." 

Here  is  a  fable  of  the  comical,  satirical  sort,  entitled 
"  The  Ghost  "  :  — 

"  A  housekeeper,  I  have  been  told,  was  long  tormented  by  a 
ghost.  He  took  lessons  in  exorcism,  and  tried  his  spell  on  the 
spirit  without  effect.  A  poet  came  to  the  house  as  a  lodger, 
and  the  host,  who  dreaded  being  left  alone  at  night,  solicited 
his  company,  and  begged  him  to  read  some  of  his  verses.  The 
poet  read  a  frosty  tragedy,  which,  if  it  did  not  interest  the  host, 
delighted  the  author.  The  ghost,  unseen  by  the  poet  but  visi- 
ble to  the  host,  appeared   and  listened.     He    soon  began  to 


118  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

shudder ;  he  could  stand  but  one  act,  and  then  vanished.  The 
next  night  the  poet  was  invited  to  read  again.  The  spirit  ap- 
peared, but  seeing  the  situation  made  no  stay.  '  Good !  thought 
the  host,  I  will  soon  be  rid  of  you  ;  it  seems  you  don't  like 
poetry.'  The  third  night  our  host  was  alone.  As  soon  as  the 
clock  struck  twelve  the  ghost  put  in  his  appearance.  The  host 
immediately  called  to  his  servant,  —  '  John,  run  to  the  poet ; 
ask  him  to  lend  me  one  of  his  tragedies  for  awhile.'  The  ghost 
was  frightened;  he  signified  with  a  motion  of  his  hand  that 
the  servant  should  not  go.  Then  he  vanished,  and  was  never 
seen  again. 

"  Moral :  There  is  no  poetry  so  poor  but  may  be  made  to 
answer  some  good  purpose.  And  if  the  spirits  are  afraid  of 
bad  poetry,  it  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  we  have  enough  of  it 
in  our  time  to  keep  them  at  bay,  though  their  name  were 
legion." 

Gellert's  published  correspondence,  which  constitutes 
a  portion  of  the  uniform  edition  of  his  works,  contains 
some  of  his  best  things,  or  at  least  exhibits  him  (as  a 
man's  letters  to  his  friends  are  apt  to  do)  in  the  most 
characteristic  light.  Here  is  a  letter  to  a  Count  some- 
body, which  is  interesting  both  as  showing  an  unlooked- 
for  capability  of  intense  excitement  in  the  sober  moralist, 
and  still  more,  as  illustrating  the  immense  enthusiasm 
which  Richardson's  novels  awakened  in  the  reading 
world  abroad  as  well  as  at  home.  Hear  what  Gellert 
says  of  them  and  their  author :  — 

Dear  Count,  —  I  am  beside  myself,  and  I  must  write  and 
tell  you  so,  though  I  wrote  you  only  yesterday.  Yesterday  I 
had  not  yet  finished  the  Fifth  Part  of  "  Grandison."  I  read,  it 
is  true,  until  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  —  a  fault  which  I  have  not 
been  guilty  of  before  since  reading  "  Clarissa."  You  may  imag- 
ine that  I  slept  but  little  during  the  night ;  and  this  morning  I 
had  scarce  read  my  chapter  in  the  Bible  when,  after  six  o'clock. 


EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  119 

I  seized  upon  "  Grandison."  ...  I  read  on  until  I  came  to  the 
parting  scene  between  Grandison  and  Clementine.  Ah  !  Count, 
dear  Count,  now  I  have  tasted  again  the  greatest  pleasure  in 
life,  —  the  same  that  I  tasted  when  I  read  the  closing  part  of 
"  Clarissa."  For  so  many  years  I  have  not  been  able  to  weep ; 
neither  nature  nor  art  could  draw  tears  from  me,  —  my  heart 
has  been  so  hard,  so  tight.  And  to-day,  this  3d  of  April,  be- 
tween seven  and  ten  of  the  clock,  I  wept.  .  .  .  God !  what  is 
there  in  this  book  ?  Now  I  understand  how  the  tragedies  of 
the  ancients  could  produce  such  mighty,  such  unfortunate,  in- 
credible effects.  Yes,  Count,  not  to  have  been  allowed  to  read 
on  in  those  moments,  not  to  continue  to  feel,  —  there  on  the 
grassy  bank,  here  in  Clementine's  chamber,  —  rather  would 
I  have  lost  all  my  property.  Is  Richardson  then  a  wizard  ? 
Everything  that  can  move,  that  can  take  by  storm,  that  can 
ravish,  that  can  charm  to  intoxication,  he  has  at  his  command. 
And  can  his  countrymen  for  a  moment  doubt  about  him  ?  But 
he  must  die :  he  will  die,  and  then  they  will  do  him  justice. 
If  they  buried  Gay,  on  account  of  some  fables,  among  the 
graves  of  their  kings,  they  will  do  so  with  Richardson.  Im- 
mortal name !  honor  to  the  human  race !  prince  of  novel- 
ists !  happy  tyrant  over  all  our  passions  !  —  should  they  not 
lay  thee  among  the  graves  of  their  kings,  by  the  ashes  of  their 
Milton,  or  in  some  worthier  place  if  there  be  one  ?  Write,  — 
but  that  transcends  the  powers  of  human  nature,  —  write  an- 
other "  Grandison,"  and  then  die,  more  blest  than  thy  Clemen- 
tine, than  thy  Grandison.  Yes,  Count  —  may  God  forgive  me ! 
—  Ebert  was  not  wrong  when  he  said  that  if  he  had  written 
*'  Grandison"  he  would  feel  sure  of  his  salvation.  If  heaven 
could  be  merited  by  intelligence  and  art,  by  wit  and  heart,  and 
divine  morality,  then  Richardson  has  more  than  merited  it. 
Preserve  this  letter  with  all  its  enthusiasm,  with  all  its  sincere 
folly,  and  if  I  die  soon  let  it  be  printed  in  large  letters,  with 
my  whole  name,  to  the  honor  of  Richardson  (for  when  I  am 
dead  I  shall  be  great  enough  to  honor  him)  ;  and  add  these 
words :  "  Let  posterity  know  that  two  of  my  happiest  days 
were  those  on  which  I  read  the   Seventh  Part  of  *  Clarissa 


120  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Harlowe '  and  the  Fifth  of  *  Sir  Charles  Grandison.'  "...  I 
have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  praying  for  Richardson  by  name, 
but  when  I  read  the  Fifth  Part  I  prayed  for  his  continued 
welfare.  I  will  write  no  more  ;  I  cannot ;  I  am  still  beside 
myself ;  and  if  I  am  sick,  "  Grandison  "  will  be  the  cause,  and 
my  sickness  will  be  Richardson's  eulogy. 

Gellert  died,  after  long  illness  and  great  bodily  suffer- 
ing, in  1769.  All  Germany  mourned  the  gifted,  kindly, 
blameless  man. 


KLOPSTOCK,  121 


CHAPTER    IX. 

KLOPSTOCK. 

THE  old  High-German  literature  was  rich,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  epic  verse.  Modern  Germany,  less 
fruitful  in  that  kind,  yet  boasts  one  work  which  in 
spite  of  many  and  great  defects  maintains,  and  will 
always  maintain,  its  place  among  the  world's  classics. 
Inferior  to  "  Paradise  Lost "  in  sensuous  imagery  and 
majesty  of  diction,  inferior  to  the  "  Gerusalemme  Libe- 
rata "  in  sweetness  and  grace,  in  warmth  and  human 
interest,  Klopstock's  "  Messiah  "  equals  either  in  poetic 
valor,  in  lofty  purpose  and  sustained  inspiration,  and 
surpasses  both  in  richness  of  invention  and  organic 
fulness. 

Friedrich  tiottlieb  Klopstock  was  one  of  the  rare 
cases,  rarer  then  than  now,  in  which  fame  and  fortune 
—  fame  for  the  living  subject,  wide  popularity  and 
ready  patronage  —  combined  to  smooth  and  gild  a  life 
devoted  to  letters.  Unlike  his  worthier  contemporary 
Lessing,  he  was  borne  by  kind  hands  across  the  rough 
places  which  so  many  of  the  scholars  and  poets  of  that 
day  were  doomed  to  tread.  A  sufficient  income,  condi- 
tioned by  no  drudgery  or  humiliation,  relieved  him  of 
those  pestering  anxieties  which  the  Germans  aptly  de- 
nominate Brodsorgen  ("  Bread-cares  "),  and  allowed 
ample  leisure  —  the  leisure  so  desirable  and  so  infre- 
quent—  for  self -chosen  tasks. 


122  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Born  in  Quedlinburg,  July  2, 1724,  Klopstock  enjoyed 
an  easy  childhood  not  overburdened  with  tasks,  and  re- 
ceived in  his  native  city  enough  of  preparatory  drill  to 
enter,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  —  not,  however,  without 
close  scraping,  —  the  gymnasium  of  Schulpforte,  then  a 
Saxon,  now  a  Prussian  seminary,  and  now,  as  then, 
esteemed  the  foremost  institution  of  its  kind  in  Ger- 
many,—  a  pet  of  the  Prussian  government,  a  State 
institution,  where  for  native  Prussians  the  tuition  is 
free.  From  it  have  emanated  some  of  Germany's  most 
distinguished  scholars.  They  still  show  at  Schulpforte 
the  grotto  where,  according  to  tradition,  Klopstock 
meditated  the  plan  of  his  "  Messiah."  From  personal 
acquaintance  with  the  uninviting  spot,  I  greatly  doubt 
the  tradition.  Jean  Paul  has  aimed  one  of  his  sar- 
casms at  Klopstock' s  bequest  to  the  school  of  a  splendid 
edition  of  the  "  Messiah,"  coupled  with  the  condition 
that  annually  the  worthiest  pupil  should  strew  flowers 
over  the  grave  of  his  former  master  Stubel,  and  while 
doing  so  pronounce  softly  the  name  of  Klopstock ;  also, 
that  some  scholar,  competent  to  the  task,  should  recite 
select  passages  from  the  poem,  for  which  he  was  to  re- 
ceive a  gold  medal  which  some  friend  would  contribute. 
Jean  Paul  stigmatizes  this  as  the  poet's  worship  of  him- 
self,—  as  it  were,  his  "own  reliquary  full  of  holy  bones." 
The  strewing  of  flowers,  so  far  as  I  remember,  has  be- 
come obsolete.  To  the  annual  recitation  of  parts  of  the 
"  Messiah  "  I  can  testify ;  but  no  gold  medal  did  I  see. 

On  leaving  the  school,  Klopstock  chose  for  the  theme 
of  his  valedictory  Latin  oration,  "  The  highest  Aim  of 
Poetry."  In  1745  he  entered  the  University  of  Jena, 
but  soon  quitted  it  in  disgust ;  and  in  the  following  year 
was  matriculated  at  Leipsic  ostensibly  as  a  student  of 


KLOPSTOCK.  123 

law.  Here  he  became  intimate  with  several  literary 
friends,  whose  souls  were  fired  with  enthusiasm  for 
poetry  and  transcendental  flights  of  thought,  and  formed 
with  them  a  society  for  mutual  encouragement  and  in- 
tellectual stimulus.  In  such  company  it  was  easy  for 
Klopstock  to  persuade  himself  of  his  poetic  vocation  and 
superiority  to  all  the  poets  of  his  time.  Cradled  in  this 
belief,  the  first  cantos  of  the  "  Mes8iah  "  wefe  given  to 
the  public ;  and  partly  by  virtue  of  their  real  intrinsic 
merit,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  the  state  of  German 
literature  at  the  time,  they  were  received  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  anticipated  for  them  by  loving  friends.  The 
metre  chosen  by  the  poet,  after  various  experiments  in 
other  forms,  was  the  hexameter,  —  then  almost  as  new 
in  German  song  as  it  was  in  English  when  Longfellow 
wrote  his  "  Evangeline."  Klopstock's  hexameters  were 
certainly  better  than  those  of  his  predecessors,  but  far 
inferior  to  those  of  more  recent  time,  when  that  measure 
has  become  naturalized. 

This  first  instalment  of  the  new  epic  was  hailed  with 
universal  delight.  Since  Luther's  translation  of  the 
Bible,  says  one  writer,  no  work  in  German  had  been 
received  with  such  acclaim.  Bodmer,  in  Switzerland, 
was  so  charmed  that  he  invited  the  author  to  Zurich. 
There  he  passed  nine  happy  months  on  the  borders  of 
the  lake  whose  beauties  he  has  celebrated ;  and  there, 
by  good  luck,  he  became  acquainted  with  the  Danish 
minister,  von  Bernstorff,  and  through  his  instrumental- 
ity received  an  invitation  from  Frederic  V.,  king  of  Den- 
mark, to  take  up  his  abode  in  Copenhagen,  wdth  a  salary 
ample  for  his  wants,  and  nothing  required  of  him  but 
to  write  out  the  rest  of  the  "  Messiah  "  and  such  other 
poems  as  the  Muse  might  inspire.   Here  he  spent  twenty 


124  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

years,  during  which  the  greater  part  of  his  works  were 
composed.  In  1754  he  married  Margaretha  Moller, 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  merchant  of  Hamburg,  having 
previously,  on  the  plea  of  indifference,  broken  with 
Fanny  Schmidt,  his  earlier  love.  His  union  with  Miss 
Moller,  known  to  literature  by  the  name  of  "  Meta,"  the 
poetic  name  conferred  upon  her  by  her  husband,  appears 
to  have  been  as  perfect  in  all  that  constitutes  the  hap- 
piness of  the  nuptial  bond  as  ever  falls  to  the  lot 
of  mortals.  The  four  years  of  their  wedded  life,  as 
Wordsworth  says  of  his, — 

"  Were  as  a  day, 
Whose  current  answers  to  the  heart's  desire." 

Mrs.  Jameson  has  celebrated  their  transcendent  happi- 
ness in  her  "  Loves  of  the  Poets."  The  wife  wrote  to 
Richardson,  the  English  novelist,  in  1758,  "I  am  the 
happiest  wife  in  the  world.  In  a  few  months  it  will  be 
four  years  that  I  have  enjoyed  this  happiness."  Those 
few  months  were  her  last.  Four  years  of  full  content- 
ment were  all  that  earthly  limitations  could  allow.  The 
poet  survived  her  for  nearly  half  a  century,  and  married 
again  in  his  sixty-eighth  year.  In  1771  he  left  Copen- 
hagen and  removed  to  Hamburg,  or  rather  to  Altona 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Hamburg,  where  he  spent 
the  remainder  of  his  days,  still  retaining,  as  councillor 
of  legation,  his  Danish  pension.  He  died  in  his  eigh- 
tieth year,  and  was  buried  with  great  pomp,  the  cities  of 
Altona  and  Hamburg  uniting  in  public  demonstrations 
of  respect  at  his  obsequies.  Representatives  of  France, 
Russia,  and  other  nations  joined  in  the  funeral  proces- 
sion ;  passages  from  his  works  were  read  or  chanted, 
and  a  copy  of  the  "  Messiah  "  was  placed  by  one  of  the 


KLOPSTOCK.  125 

officiating  clergymen  in  his  coffin.  Seldom  had  a  poet 
in  those  days  been  so  fortunate  in  life,  and  so  honored 
in  death. 

Of  Klopstock's  person,  his  manner  and  conversation, 
we  have  the  reports  of  two  witnesses,  —  one  who  saw 
him  at  the  height  of  his  powers,  and  one  who  visited 
him  in  his  decline  ;  both  men  of  supreme  mark,  the 
one  a  German,  the  other  an  Englishman,  —  Goethe,  his 
junior  by  twenty-five  years,  and  Coleridge,  his  junior 
by  forty-eight.  Goethe,  who  received  him  at  his  fath- 
er's house  in  Frankfort,  speaks  of  him  thus,  in  his 
Autobiography  :  — 

"  He  was  a  man  of  diminutive  stature,  but  well  built ;  his 
bearing  grave  and  measured ;  liis  conversation  to  the  point,  and 
agreeable.  On  the  whole,  his  presence  had  something  of  the 
diplomat.  Such  personages  subject  themselves  to  the  difficult 
problem  of  maintaining  at  the  same  time  their  own  dignity  and 
that  of  a  higher  to  whom  they  are  accountable ;  of  promoting 
their  own  together  with  the  far  more  important  interests  of 
some  prince,  or  it  may  be  of  whole  States,  and  of  making 
themselves  in  this  critical  position,  before  all  things,  agreeable 
to  all  men.  And  so  Klopstock  appeared  to  conduct  himself  as 
a  man  of  worth,  and  at  the  same  time  as  the  representative  of 
higher  beings,  of  religion,  morality,  and  freedom.  Another 
peculiarity  of  men  of  the  world  he  had  also  adopted ;  namely, 
that  of  being  slow  to  speak  on  precisely  those  topics  on  which 
they  are  expected  and  desired  to  converse.  One  rarely  heard 
him  talk  of  poetry,  or  literary  topics.  But  having  learned  that 
I  and  my  friends  were  passionately  fond  of  skating,  he  con- 
versed with  us  at  length  on  this  noble  art,  concerning  which 
he  had  meditated  deeply,  and  well  considered  what  therein  is 
to  be  attempted  and  what  avoided.  But  before  we  could  par- 
take of  his  willing  instruction  on  this  subject,  he  must  first  set 
us  right  respecting  the  word  itself,  which  it  seems  we  had 
mistaken.     We   were   accustomed,   in   good  German,  to   say, 


126  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

SchlittscJiuh  [instead  of  SchrittschuK],  which  he  would  by  no 
means  allow.  '  For  the  word/  he  said,  *  was  not  derived  from 
Schlitten  ("  sled  "),  as  if  one  moved  on  little  runners,  but  from 
schreiten  ("  stride  "),  because,  like  the  Homeric  gods,  one  strode 
on  these  winged  soles  over  the  sea  as  over  a  floor.'  Then  he 
came  to  speak  of  the  instrument  itself ;  he  repudiated  the  tall, 
grooved  skates,  and  recommended  instead  the  low,  broad,  un- 
grooved  Frisian  irons  as  best  adapted  to  rapid  motion.  ...  I 
procured  for  myself,  according  to  his  direction,  a  pair  of  those 
flat  skates  with  long  beaks,  and  used  them  many  years,  al- 
though with  some  inconvenience.  He  could  also  give  account 
—  and  was  pleased  to  do  so  —  of  the  art  of  riding,  and  even  of 
the  training  of  horses.  And  thus,  as  it  seemed  intentionally, 
he  usually  diverted  the  conversation  from  his  proper  calling, 
in  order  to  speak  more  freely  of  other  arts  which  he  pursued 
as  an  amateur. 

"  Of  these  and  other  peculiarities  of  this  extraordinary  man 
I  could  say  more,  if  those  who  have  lived  longer  with  him  had 
not  already  sufficiently  informed  us  on  the  subject.  But  I  can- 
not refrain  from  one  observation ;  namely,  this  :  that  men  whom 
Nature  has  endowed  with  uncommon  gifts,  but  who  have  been 
placed  in  a  narrow  or  at  least  not  proportionate  sphere  of 
action,  are  apt  to  fall  into  oddities,  and  because  they  can 
make  no  direct  use  of  their  gifts,  to  make  them  available  in 
strange  and  extraordinary  ways." 

Coleridge,  in  company  with  Wordsworth,  visited  Klop- 
stock  at  his  residence  in  Altona,  in  the  autumn  of  1798. 
In  a  letter  to  a  lady,  he  writes  :  — 

"  Believe  me,  I  walked  with  an  impression  of  awe  on  my 
spirits  as  Wordsworth  and  myself  accompanied  the  brother  of 
Klopstock  to  the  house  of  the  poet,  which  stands  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  the  city  gate.  It  is  one  of  a  row  of  little 
commonplace  summer-houses  (for  so  they  looked),  with  four  or 
five  rows  of  young,  meagre  elm-trees  before  the  windows,  be- 
yond which  is  a  green,  and  then  a  dead  flat,  intersected  with 


KLOPSTOCK.  127 

several  roads.  Whatever  beauty  (thought  I)  may  be  before 
the  poet's  eye  at  present,  it  must  certainly  be  purely  of  his 
own  creation.  We  waited  a  few  moments  in  a  neat  little  par- 
lor, ornamented  with  the  figures  of  two  of  the  Muses,  and 
prints,  the  subjects  of  which  were  from  Klopstock's  Odes.  The 
poet  entered.  I  was  much  disappointed  in  his  countenance, 
and  recognized  in  it  no  likeness  to  the  bust.  There  was  no 
comprehension  in  the  forehead,  no  weight  over  the  eye-brows, 
no  expression  of  peculiarity,  moral  or  intellectual,  in  the  eyes, 
no  massiveness  in  the  general  countenance.  He  is,  if  any- 
thing, rather  below  the  middle  size.  He  wore  very  large  half 
boots,  which  his  legs  filled,  so  enormously  were  they  swollen. 
However,  though  neither  Wordsworth  nor  myself  could  dis- 
cover any  indications  of  sublimity  or  enthusiasm  in  his  physi- 
ognomy, we  were  both  equally  impressed  with  his  liveliness 
and  his  kind  and  ready  courtesy.  He  talked  in  French  to  my 
friend,  and  with  difficulty  spoke  a  few  sentences  to  me  in  Eng- 
lish. His  enunciation  was  not  in  the  least  affected  by  the  entire 
want  of  his  upper  teeth.  The  conversation  began  on  his  part 
with  the  expression  of  his  rapture  at  the  surrender  of  the 
French  troops  under  General  Humbert.  .  .  .  He  declared  his 
sanguine  belief  in  Nelson's  victory,  and  anticipated  its  confirma- 
tion with  keen  and  triumphant  pleasure.  His  words,  tones, 
looks,  implied  the  most  vehement  anti-gallicanism. 

"  The  subject  changed  to  literature,  and  I  inquired  in  Latin 
concerning  the  history  of  German  poetry  and  the  elder  German 
poets.  To  my  very  great  aistonishment,  he  confessed  that  he 
knew  very  little  on  the  subject.  ...  He  then  talked  of  Milton 
and  Glover,  and  thought  Glover's  blank  verse  superior  to  Mil- 
ton's. Wordsworth  and  myself  expressed  our  surprise,  and  my 
friend  gave  his  definition  and  notion  of  harmonious  verse  :  that 
it  consisted  —  English  Iambic  blank  verse  especially  —  in  the 
apt  arrangement  of  pauses  and  cadences,  and  the  sweep  of 
whole  paragraphs,  not  in  the  even  flow,  —  much  less  in  the 
prominence  or  antithetic  vigor  of  single  lines,  which  indeed 
were  injurious  to  the  total  effect,  except  where  they  were  in- 
troduced for  some  special  purpose.     Klopstock  assented,  and 


128  HOURS   WITH.    GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

said  that  he  meant  to  confine  Glover's  superiority  to  single 
lines.  He  told  us  that  he  had  read  Milton  in  a  prose  transla- 
tion when  he  was  fourteen.  [But]  he  appeared  to  know  very 
little  of  Milton,  or  of  our  poets  in  general.  He  spoke  with 
great  indignation  of  the  English  prose  translation  of  his  '  Mes- 
siah.* All  the  translations  had  been  bad,  but  the  English 
translation  was  no  translation  at  all ;  there  were  pages  on 
pages  which  were  not  in  the  original,  and  half  of  the  original 
was  not  in  the  translation.  Wordsworth  told  him  that  I  meant 
to  translate  some  of  his  Odes  as  specimens  of  German  lyrics ; 
he  then  said  to  me,  in  English,  '  I  wish  you  would  render  into 
English  some  select  passages  of  the  "  Messiah,"  and  revenge 
me  of  your  countrymen.'  It  was  the  liveliest  thing  which  he 
produced  in  the  whole  conversation.  He  told  us  that  his  first 
Ode  was  fifty  years  older  than  his  last.  I  looked  at  him  with 
much  emotion.  I  considered  him  as  the  venerable  father  of 
German  poetry,  as  a  good  man,  as  a  Christian,  seventy-four 
years  old,  with  legs  enormously  swollen,  yet  active,  lively, 
cheerful,  and  kind  and  communicative.  My  eyes  felt  as  if  a 
tear  were  swelling  into  them." 

But  Coleridge  proceeds  to  say,  speaking  of  Klop- 
stock's  powdered  periwig,  "  The  author  of  the  '  Mes- 
siah '  should  have  worn  his  own  gray  hair.  His  powder 
and  periwig  were  to  the  eye  what  Mr.  Yirgil  would  be 
to  the  ear." 

Klopstock's  fame  rests  mainly  on  his  Odes  and  his 
"  Messiah."  His  dramas,  three  of  which,  forming  a 
trilogy,  celebrate  the  first  hero  of  German  history, — 
Hermann  the  Arminius,  who  defeated  the  Romans, 
commanded  by  Varus,  in  the  year  9  of  the  Christian 
era,  —  and  the  rest  of  which  handle  Biblical  themes. 
''The  Death  of  Adam,"  "David  and  Solomon," — these 
dramas  are  nearly  forgotten,  although  "  The  Death  of 
Adam  "  was  at  one  time  a  stock-piece  in  the  repertory 
of  the  German  stage,  and  was  thought  to  compare  favor- 


KLOPSTOCK.  129 

ably  with  the  "  Athalie  "  of  Racine,  and  with  "  Samson 
Agonistes." 

His  Odes  are  thought  by  many  critics,  both  native 
and  foreign,  —  among  others,  by  Taylor,  in  his  "  Survey 
of  German  Poetry,"  —  to  constitute  the  poet's  strongest 
title  to  immortality.  He  has  been  styled  the  '^  German 
Pindar."  Gervinus  says  that  none  of  his  predecessors 
had  attained  to  the  inspiration  of  those  earlier  Odes, 
which  remind  one  by  turns  of  Horace,  of  David,  and  of 
Ossian.  Their  most  prominent  characteristics  are  the 
metrical  boldness  of  the  form,  and  the  pure  and  fervid, 
though  sometimes  exaggerated,  sentiment  which  fur- 
nishes the  stuff.  In  these  compositions  the  author  dis- 
dains the  use  of  rhyme,  and  imitates  instead  the 
ancient  classic  metres,  to  which  the  German  language 
—  though  better  adapted,  because  more  plastic  than  the 
English  —  lends  itself  reluctantly,  and  now  and  then 
with  a  very  bad  grace,  excepting  always  the  hexameter 
and  pentameter.  Goethe  wrote  occasional  unrhymed 
lyrics.  But  in  his  there  is  no  imitation  of  ancient 
forms,  and  no  precise  metre.  The  metrical  law  is  un- 
defined, and  the  movement  is  always  graceful,  because 
the  measure  is  not  forecast,  but  adapts  itself  to  the 
thought  or  feeling  expressed  in  each  clause.  In  Klop- 
stock's,  on  the  contrary,  the  measure  is  first  assumed ; 
thought  and  feeling  are  cast  into  a  prepared  mould,  and 
where  the  mould  does  not  fit,  the  language  suffers  vio- 
lence, and  the  verse  is  awkward.  Among  them  are 
many  noble  compositions,  in  which  there  is  a  genuine 
lift,  inspired  and  inspiring.  But  sometimes  the  at- 
tempted flight  is  a  miscarriage,  resembling  (to  borrow 
a  figure  from  Lessing)  the  attempt  of  the  ostrich,  that 
spreads  portentous  wings,  and  never  really  leaves  the 

9 


130  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ground.  Sometimes,  too,  when  the  Muse  actually  soars 
her  wings  suddenly  give  out ;  she  discovers  "  an  alacrity 
in  sinking,"  and  the  pathos  of  the  thought  is  enhanced 
by  high-flown  diction. 

I  have  found  these  Odes  absolutely  untranslatable 
into  English,  with  corresponding  metres,  without  such 
violation  of  English  idiom  as  would  make  the  verses 
absurdly  un-English.  Their  peculiar  beauties  —  beauties 
that  lie  in  the  wording  and  the  phraseology  —  evaporate 
in  any  version.  Like  all  lyric  poems,  and  more  than 
most,  to  be  rightly  appreciated  they  must  be  read  in 
the  original. 

An  English  translator,  Mr.  Nind,  has  attempted  to 
solve  the  metrical  problem  by  rendering  these  poems  in 
English  rhyme.  By  this  method  he  has  produced,  no 
doubt,  a  volume  of  more  readable  verse  than  he  could 
have  made  by  attempting  to  reproduce  the  original 
metres  ;  but  unhappily  the  English,  instead  of  a  trans- 
lation, is  often  but  a  weak  paraphrase  of  the  German. 
For  example,  the  first  stanza  of  the  poem  on  the  "  Lake 
of  Zurich,"  literally  rendered,  reads  thus  :  — 

"  Beautiful,  O  Mother  Nature  !  is  the  splendor  of  thy  inven- 
tion diffused  over  the  landscape;  more  beautiful  a  glad  face 
that  thinks  the  great  thought  of   thy  creation  over  again." 

Nind  has  it :  — 

'*  O  Mother  Nature !  beautiful  and  bright 

Is  all  thy  work  o'er  mountain,  vale,  and  sea; 
Brighter  the  eye  that  drinks  delight 
From  lofty  communings  with  thee." 

Now,  "  lofty  communings  with  thee "  sounds  well 
enough ;  it  is  just  what  any  mediocre  writer  in  verse  or 
prose  would  be  likely  to  say ;  but  "  to  think  the  great 


KLOPSTOCK.  131 

til  ought  of  creation  over  again "  is  a  very  different 
thing ;  it  suggests  a  whole  system  of  philosophy.  In 
fact,  it  is  a  saying  of  wide  celebrity,  often  quoted, 
though  not  commonly  known  to  have  originated  with 
Klopstock. 

The  merit  of  Klopstock's  poetry  consists  in  his  bold 
idealism,  the  inspiration  of  his  thought,  and  the  fervor 
of  his  sentiment.  His  defect  is  want  of  sensuousness, 
of  the  realism  which  is  quite  as  necessary  to  the  poet 
as  idealism.  Full  of  poetic  feeling,  he  lacks  the  poet's 
eye.  His  imagination  deals  with  abstractions  ;  he  does 
not  represent  to  himself  in  sensuous  images  the  objects 
of  his  thought.  Hence,  some  absurd  conceits.  In  an 
Ode  entitled  "  The  Two  Muses,"  he  represents  the  Brit- 
ish and  the  German  Muse  competing  for  literary  honors. 
The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one ;  but  mark  how  the  poet  treats 
it.  Competition  —  in  German,  eoncurrenz  —  suggests  to 
him  running  for  a  wager.  Accordingly,  he  figures  his 
two  Muses  as  undertaking  a  foot-race.  There  are  two 
goals  :  the  nearest  goal  is  a  grove  of  oaks ;  the  final  one 
a  clump  of  palms.  The  poet  witnesses  the  start,  but 
prudently  confesses  himself  ignorant  of  the  result. 

"  The  herald  sounds!  they  flew  with  eagle  flight; 
Behind  them  into  clouds  the  dust  was  tossed. 
I  looked,  but  when  the  oaks  were  passed,  my  sight 
In  dimness  of  the  dust  was  lost." 

Fancy  two  modest,  respectable  maidens  running  at 
the  top  of  their  speed,  and  kicking  up  a  cloud  of  dust ! 
As  if  fleetness  of  foot  decided  the  question  of  intellect- 
ual supremacy  !  As  if  the  talent  of  the  Muse,  like  that 
of  Atalanta,  were  seated  in  her  heels  !  Why  could  not 
the  poet  have  taken  a  hint  from  the  old  poetic  tourna- 


132  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ments  of  the  German  minnesingers  ?  Why  could  he  not 
have  put  a  lyre  into  the  hands  of  each  Muse,  and  let 
them,  agreeably  to  their  vocation,  compete  with  songs 
instead  of  their  feet  ? 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  Odes,  the  "Mes- 
siah "  after  all  is  the  work  by  which  Klopstock  is  best 
known  to  the  world  at  large,  —  and  I  may  say  the  only 
one.  Those  who  know  nothing  else  of  him,  know  him 
to  be  the  author  of  a  great  epic  poem  which  bears  that 
name.  The  "  Messiah,"  as  the  name  imports,  is  the' 
life  of  Christ  poetically  set  forth.  Around  this  central 
thread,  which  follows  in  the  main  the  Gospel  narrative, 
are  gathered  episodes  descriptive  of  imaginary  scenes, 
events  in  heaven  and  earth,  characters  celestial  and 
demonic,  which  constitute  the  substance  of  the  poem. 
The  author,  according  to  his  own  statement,  began  it  at 
the  age  of  seventeen,  but  spent  three  years  on  the  plan 
before  writing  a  line.  Thirty  years  elapsed  before  the 
work  was  completed.  Portions  of  it  were  written  at 
intervals,  amid  other  labors,  and  given  to  the  public 
in  successive  instalments.  The  first  three  cantos  were 
written  in  a  kind  of  poetic  prose ;  but  the  poet  could 
not  be  satisfied  with  this  form,  and  was  long  undecided 
in  what  metre  to  embody  his  conceptions.  Finally,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  something  might  be  made  of  the 
hexameter.  There  had  been  some  attempts  in  that 
measure  in  German,  but  none  which  seemed  to  him  at 
all  successful.  He  shut  himself  up  one  day,  went  with- 
out his  dinner,  and  from  morning  till  night  employed 
himself  in  turning  a  portion  of  what  he  had  written  into 
hexameter.  He  was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  success 
of  this  experiment,  that  he  at  once  resolved  to  cast  his 
epic  in  that  mould. 


KLOPSTOCK.  133 

It  would  occupy  too  much  space  to  unfold  the  plan  of 
the  "  Messiah."  The  excellence  of  the  poem  consists, 
not  in  the  plan,  which  is  very  faulty,  but  in  the  beauty 
of  single  parts.  It  extends  through  twenty  cantos ;  the 
eighth  brings  us  to  the  death  of  Christ,  the  remaining 
twelve  being  partly  occupied  with  what  follows  the 
crucifixion  in  the  Gospel  story,  but  chiefly  with  imagi- 
nary scenes,  the  creations  of  the  poet's  brain,  and 
owing  what  interest  they  possess  to  the  splendor  of  his 
imagination  and  the  tender  pathos  of  his  sentiment. 
The  poem  opens  with  an  invocation,  not  of  the  Muse, 
according  to  traditional  custom,  which  even  Milton  fol- 
lows, but,  more  fitly,  of  the  soul :  — 

**  Sing,  immortal  Soul!  of  sinful  man  the  redemption, 
Which  the  Messiah  on  earth,  in  his  human  nature,  accomplished; 
Whereby  suffering,  slain,  and  from  death  to  glory  exalted, 
Adam's  race  he  atoned  and  restored  to  the  love  of  the  Godhead. 
Thus  the  Eternal  willed."  i 

He  then  proceeds,  like  Milton,  to  implore  the  aid  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  in  unfolding  his  theme.  Then  we  are 
introduced  to  a  scene  on  the  Mount  of  Olives,  where  the 
Redeemer,  near  the  close  of  his  ministry,  meets  God 
face  to  face,  and  the  Father  and  the  Son  renew  their 
covenant,  —  the  latter  to  suffer  and  die  for  the  sins  oE 
mankind,  the  former  to  forgive  the  sins  thus  atoned. 

"  Further  he  spake  and  said,  '  I  lift  my  head  toward  heaven, 
Lift  my  hand  to  the  clouds,  and  thus  by  myself,  thus  swear  I,  — 
I  who  am  God  like  thee,  of  man  I  will  be  the  redeemer.' 
Thus  spake  Jesus,  and  raised  himself  up;  sublime  was  his  visage; 
Calm  and  earnest  he  stood  before  God,  and  full  of  compassion. 
But,  unheard  by  the  angels,  alone  by  himself  and  the  Son  heard, 

1  Here  we  have,  in  the  fourth  verse,  the  Aihs  S'  ireXtUro  fioii\r],  from 
the  fourth  verse  of  the  first  Book  of  the  Iliad. 


134  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Spake  the  eternal  Father,  while  on  the  Redeemer  all-searching 
Rested  his  vision,  and  said,   '  I  spread  my  head  through  the 

heavens. 
Stretch  my  arm  through  infinity  forth,  and  forever  and  ever 
I,  the  Eternal,  swear  to  forgive  mankind  their  transgressions.*  " 

At  this  exchange  of  vows  the  earth  quaked  with  awe  ; 
souls  just  starting  into  being,  that  had  not  yet  begun  to 
think,  were  the  first  to  tremble  and  feel.  The  seraph 
Gabriel,  the  special  attendant  on  Christ,  shuddered,  and 
the  world  around  him  lay  in  hushed  expectation,  like 
the  earth  before  the  approach  of  a  storm;  gentle  rap- 
ture entered  the  souls  of  future  Christians,  and  a  sweet 
intoxicating  sense  of  eternal  life.  But  the  spirits  of 
hell,  susceptible  only  of  despair, — 

*'  Sank  from  their  thrones  to  new  depths,  and,  as  downward  they 
tumbled, 
Fell  upon  each  a  rock,  and  under  each  the  abyss  broke 
In  with  a  crash,  whence  deep  hell  bellowed  reverberant  thunder." 

I  cite  this  as  a  specimen  of  that  "  majesty  of  action '' 
in  which  it  is  claimed  that  this  poem  excels  every  other 
epopee,  actual  or  possible. 

The  fourth  canto  —  which  on  the  whole  is  the  most 
spirited,  and  contains  many  noble  passages  —  exhibits 
also  one  of  Klopstock's  chief  defects,  —  an  extravagance 
which  outruns  the  sympathy  of  the  reader.  The  subject 
is  the  assembly  of  the  Jewish  elders,  called  by  Caiaphas 
the  high-priest  to  debate  the  question,  what  course  shall  be 
taken  with  Jesus,  whose  growing  popularity  has  alarmed 
the  rulers  of  the  people.  Caiaphas  addresses  the  meeting 
with  an  eloquent  speech,  and  relates  his  vision,  in  which 
Aaron  had  appeared  to  him  as  he  was  ministering  in 
the  temple,  and  threatened  dreadful  penalties  on  ac- 
count of  the  Galilean  disturber,  who  had  blasphemed 


KLOPSTOCK.  135 

Moses,  and  was  still  permitted  to  live.  He  is  followed 
by  Gamaliel  and  Nicodemus,  who  both  plead  for  the 
toleration  of  Jesus.  Then  Philo,  the  Pharisee,  trembled 
with  rage.  His  look  grew  dark  ;  night  lay  thick  around 
him,  and  darkness  hid  from  him  the  assembly.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  as  in  a  tempest  a  single  thun- 
der-cloud, more  black  and  charged  with  lightnings  than 
the  rest,  separates  itself  from  the  mass,  and  while  the 
others  but  seize  the  tops  of  the  cedars,  this  kindles  from 
one  end  of  the  heavens  to  the  other  the  woody  moun- 
tains, and  with  thousand  thunders  inflames  the  high- 
towering,  immeasurable  cities  of  kings,  and  buries  them 
in  ruins,  —  so  Philo  severed  himself  from  the  ranks  of 
his  associates.     Satan  saw  him,  and  said  to  himself,  — 

"  Devoted  to  me  be  tliy  speakiog.  As  we  below  consecrate, 
so  consecrate  I  thee,  O  Philo!  Like  the  dreaded  waters  of 
hell  let  thy  speech  stream  wildly  on,  strong  as  the  flaming 
ocean,  winged  as  with  the  breath  of  the  thunders  which  my 
mouth  utters  when  it  commands.  .  .  . 

'*  *  Thus  speak,  Philo,  thus  lead  this  captive  people  in  triumph! 
Think,   and  let   thy  heart  overflow  with   such   thoughts  and 

sensations 
As  Adra-Melech  himself,  if  a  mortal,  would  not  be  ashamed  of  ! 
Death  to  the  Nazarean  doom,  and  I  will  reward  thee ; 
Joys  known  only  to  hell  shall  be  thine  as  soon  as  his  blood  flows. 
And  to  us  when  thou  comest,  myself  thou  shalt  have  for  a  leader ; 
I  will  bring  thee  to  souls  that  were  heroes,  and  revelled  in 

carnage.* 
Thus  spake  Satan  aside,  but  the  seraph  Ithuriel  heard  him. 
Then  stood  Philo  forth  and  spake  as  he  looked  toward  heaven." 

The  speech  which  follows  is  one  of  great  power.  It 
begins  with  a  solemn  address  to  the  altar  of  blood,  and 
to  all  the  altars  and  holy  places  of  Israel ;  the  speaker 
washes  his  hands  of  all  complicity  in  the  doings  by 


136  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

which  these  have  been  or  may  hereafter  be  polluted; 
he  pronounces  maledictions  on  Nicodemus,  on  Gamaliel, 
and  all  who  have  favored  Jesus,  devoting  them  to  a 
painful  death.  But  his  fiercest  imprecations  are  hurled 
at  Jesus  himself;  he  calls  upon  God  to  annihilate  the 
transgressor. 

"  But  thy  grimmest  wrath,  the  thunders  wherewith  thou  thuii- 
derest, 
Causing  the  mountains   to  quake,    and    hell  beneath  thee  to 

tremble, 
Take,  and  therewith  smite,  O  God,  that  blackest  of  sinners." 

He  threatens,  and  says  :  — 

"  I  have  been  young,  and  now  I  am  old ;  I  have  served  and 
sacrificed  after  the  manner  of  my  fathers ;  but  if  I  am  doomed 
to  the  misery  of  seeing  the  Nazarean  rebel  prevail,  then  I  de- 
clare thy  eternal  covenant  to  be  null,  and  the  blessing  promised 
to  Abraham  and  his  seed  forever ;  and  in  the  sight  of  all  Judah 
I  herewith  renounce  thy  justice  and  thy  law.  Without  thee 
I  will  live ;  without  thee  my  sinking  head  shall  go  down  to 
the  pit. 

*'  Yea,  if  thou  dost  not  sweep  from  the  face  of  the  earth  that 

transgressor. 
Then  thou  didst  not  appear  to  Moses ;  't  was  empty  illusion 
All  that  he  thought  he  saw  in  the  bush  in  the  mountain  of  Horeb. 
Then  thou  didst  not  descend  in  flames  on  the  summit  of  Sinai ; 
Then  no  trumpet  was  heard,  no  thunder;  the  mountain,  it  quaked 

not; 
Then  our  fathers  and  we,  through  immemorial  ages, 
All  unblest  have  been,  of  all  nations  most  worthy  of  pity." 

The  fifth  book  describes  the  visit  of  Jehovah  to  Christ 
in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane ;  and  here  we  have  the 
monstrous  conceit  of  a  regular  journey  pf  the  Almighty 
from  his  own  abode  to  the  place  of  action,  —  a  journey 


KLOPSTOCK.  137 

whose  length  is  measured  by  the  spaces  which  separate 
sun  from  sun.  A  thousand  sun-miles  have  to  be  trav- 
ersed, in  order  that  the  Father  may  meet  the  Son.  On 
the  way  he  encounters  a  seraph,  who  is  journeying 
toward  heaven  with  some  souls  that  have  just  put  off 
their  mortal  bodies  and  put  on  the  spiritual.  These  are 
the  souls  of  the  wise  men  of  the  East,  who  brought  their 
offerings  to  the  infant  Jesus.  Their  names  are  given, 
and  each  one's  story  is  narrated  at  some  length.  They 
are  told  by  the  seraph  that  he  who  is  passing  is  God, 
and  they  immediately  break  forth  in  songs  of  adoration. 
Then  occurs  an  incident  embodying  an  original  and 
beautiful  conception.  In  the  track  of  the  journey  lies 
a  planet,  the  counterpart  to  our  earth,  and  resembling 
it  in  all  respects,  with  the  exception  that  the  human 
beings  there  have  never  seen  death,  but  rejoice  in  im- 
mortal youth,  —  their  first  parents  having  withstood  the 
temptation  to  which  Adam  and  Eve  succumbed,  and  left 
untasted  the  forbidden  fruit.  Their  progenitor, — a  young 
man  in  appearance,  though  his  life  comprised  so  many 
centuries,  —  seeing  Jehovah  pass,  apparently  bound  for 
earth,  points  him  out  to  his  progeny,  and  repeats  to 
them  the  story  of  our  planet,  the  Fall  of  Man  ;  and 
thus  opportunity  is  given  for  pathetic  descriptions  of 
death,  and  the  partings  which  death  involves. 

The  eighth  book,  which  narrates  the  Crucifixion,  con- 
tains, in  a  famous  passage,  the  description  of  an  eclipse, 
produced  by  the  star  Adamida,  the  dwelling-place  of  the 
souls  of  the  unborn,  which  Uriel  by  divine  command 
interposes  between  the  earth  and  the  sun. 

The  eleventh  canto  portrays  the  rising  of  the  bodies 
of  the  saints  after  the  Crucifixion,  as  reported  in  the 
Gospel   of   St.  Matthew.     Among   others   Rachel   sees. 


138  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

as  in  a  trance,  her  own  body  arise  like  a  cloud  from  the 
grave. 

"  As  of  a  vernal  shower  that  scatters  the  snow  of  its  blossoms, 
Rachel's  glory  illumed  the  swimming  vapor  with  lustre, 
Golden  and  bright  as  on  morning  clouds  are  the  fringes  of  sun- 
shine. 
Curious  follow  her  glances ;  the  heaving  mist,  she  beholds  it 
Hovering  and  shapeless  as  yet;  it  ascends,  sinks,  glitters,  ap- 
proaches. 

Suddenly  sounds  the  omnipotent  word;  she  awakes,  and  is  con- 
scious 
Now  that  her  soul  has  received  its  immortal  and  glorified  body."  ^ 

I  pass  by  the  striking  things  of  other  cantos.  The 
twentieth  and  last  describes,  in  intoxicating  strains,  the 
ascent  of  the  risen  Christ  to  the  Father.  It  consists 
largely  of  songs  of  praise  from  angels,  prophets,  and 
saints,  in  varying  and  difficult  metres,  and  ends  with 
the  words, — 

v  Thus  the  Father  was  seen,   thus  the  Son,  by  the  Heaven  of 
Heavens ; 
Thus  in  view  of  the  Heaven  of  Heavens  the  throne  he  ascended, 
Jesus  Christ,  and  sat  down,  the  Son  at  the  right  of  the  Father." 

These  samples  may  suffice  to  convey  some  impression 
of  the  scope  and  strain  of  a  poem  to  which  has  been 
assigned  a  very  high  rank  among  the  enduring  monu- 
ments of  genius,  but  which  holds  its  place  rather  by 
prescription  and  the  judgment  of  contemporary  critics 
than  by  the  interest  felt  in  it,  or  any  near  acquaintance 
with  it,  among  even  native  readers  of  our  time. 

Klopstock  has  been  called  the  "  German  Milton  ; " 
Coleridge  says,  with  a  covert  sneer,  "  A  very  German 

1  From  W.  Taylor's  version,  in  his  "  Survey  of  German  Poetry." 


KLOPSTOCK. 

Milton,  indeed."  But  I  doubt  if  Coleridge  could  estab- 
lish, with  the  general  consent  of  the  critical  world,  a 
canon  of  poetic  art  by  which  the  "  Messiah  "  should  be 
judged  an  inferior  work,  as  compared  with  "  Paradise 
Lost "  and  "  Paradise  Regained."  (These  two  are  prop- 
erly one  poem.)  The  comparison  is  one  which  naturally 
suggests  itself,  for  the  reason  that  both  the  German  and 
the  English  poem  deal  with  sacred  subjects  ;  both  are 
Christian  compositions,  —  they  draw  their  topics,  char- 
acters, and  scenes  from  the  Christian  Scriptures,  —  and 
both  are  native  epics.  But  here  the  resemblance  ends. 
Further  than  this  they  are  incommensurable.  Both  are 
great  in  their  way,  but  the  ways  are  different.  "  Para- 
dise Lost "  is  great  in  its  massive  realism,  its  level  ease, 
its  sensuous  imagery,  its  genial,  apt  diction,  and  the 
sense  it  gives  of  reserved  force.  The  *'  Messiah "  is 
great  in  its  overpowering  wealth  of  imagination,  its  end- 
less felicity  of  invention,  its  lyric  daring,  its  lofty  ideal- 
ism, its  sustained  inspiration,  in  which  perhaps  no  poem 
of  equal  length  can  be  compared  with  it.  Klopstock  is 
always  enthusiastic,  Milton  always  self-possessed.  Cor- 
responding with  this  difference  the  style  of  the  former 
is  florid  to  excess,  extravagant,  and  often  wearies  with 
its  strained  hyperbole  ;  the  style  of  "  Paradise  Lost  "  is 
grandly  simple,  but  sometimes  falls  below  the  theme  and 
becomes  prosy.  Milton  was  certainly  the  greater,  deeper 
nature,  —  I  am  hardly  prepared  to  say,  the  superior  poet ; 
or  if  superior,  the  superiority  appears  in  the  "  Comus  " 
and  the  "  Lycidas  "  and  the  minor  poems,  rather  than  in 
the  *'  Paradise  Lost."  Perhaps  we  may  say  that  Milton 
had  more  of  the  poet's  eye  as  it  manifests  itself  in  the 
treatment  of  material  nature  ;  Klopstock,  more  of  the 
poet's  soul  as  manifest  in  dealing  with  the  moral  world. 


140  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Milton's  poetry  was  the  incidental  blossom  of  an  opulent 
nature  ;  Klopstock's  was  the  substance  of  a  very  limited 
one.  The  Englishman  had  that  and  a  great  deal  more 
beside  ;  the  German  had  that,  and  nothing  else. 

One  thing  I  find  wearisome  in  Klopstock,  —  one  thing 
in  which  the  German  poets  of  that  day  were  too  prone 
to  indulge ;  that  is,  an  excessive  sentimentality.  Both 
in  his  odes  and  his  epic  he  is  unreasonably  lachrymose. 
Scarcely  a  page  but  swims  with  tears.  Even  God  is  rep- 
resented as  weeping.  One  feels  in  reading  him  that  the 
so-called  diluvian  era  in  German  literature  had  not  yet 
gone  by.  The  waters  were  not  yet  ''  abated  from  the 
face  of  the  earth." 

Neither  "  Paradise  Lost "  nor  the  "  Messiah  "  is  much 
read  by  the  present  generation,  —  the  latter  perhaps  less 
than  the  former,  and  perhaps  for  the  same  reason.  The 
grand  defect  in  both  is  the  want  of  solid  ground  in  hu- 
man experience,  the  want  of  a  genuine  human  interest. 
They  move  about  in  worlds  not  realized  ;  they  deal  with 
imaginary,  I  mean  superhuman  or  infra-human,  beings, 
—  beings  that  may  be  objects  of  faith,  but  are  too  far 
removed  from  the  sphere  of  human  sympathy  to  interest 
us  with  their  doings.  Angels  and  archangels,  seraphs 
and  Deity,  are  scarcely  fit  subjects  for  epic  handling. 

Milton's  Satan,  indeed,  as  a  being  swayed  by  human 
passions,  is  nearer  and  more  real  than  the  heavenly 
powers,  or  even  than  Adam  and  Eve,  and  constitutes 
the  central  figure  and  focal  interest  of  "  Paradise  Lost." 
But  Klopstock's  "  Messiah  "  is  too  shadowy,  too  super- 
nal, to  serve  as  the  hero  of  an  epopee.  Christian  dogma 
affirms  a  human  as  well  as  a  divine  nature  in  Christ. 
It  was  therefore  open  to  the  poet,  without  offence  to 
Christian  faith,  to  treat  his  subject  from  the  human  side. 


KLOPSTOCK.  141 

Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have  given  us  instead  of  a 
spectre  a  man,  and  made,  if  not  a  greater,  a  more  inter- 
esting poem,  and  one  that  would  be  not  only  admired  but 
read,  —  which,  even  in  his  own  day,  Lessing,  a  friendly 
critic,  complains  that  the  '*  Messiah "  was  not.  Tt  is 
true,  the  great  epics  of  Greek  and  Roman  literature 
introduce  divinities  into  their  plot,  and  we  read  the 
Iliad  and  the  ^neid  with  no  abatement  of  interest 
on  that  account.  The  reason  is  that  the  gods  and 
goddesses  of  Greece  and  Rome  are  simply  men  and 
women,  inhabiting  a  different  plane  and  possessing  pe- 
culiar privileges,  but  essentially  human,  in  passion  and 
action,  —  as  much  so  as  Ajax  or  Diomed,  or  Helen 
or  Hector ;  and  about  as  real  as  these.  Moreover,  the 
religion  which  those  beings  represent  is  so  foreign  and 
indifferent  to  modern  readers,  so  utterly  null,  that  we 
can  enjoy  them  without  disturbance  of  any  theological 
sensibilities.  But  in  these  Christian  epics  the  enlight- 
ened consciousness  can  hardly  fail  to  be  shocked  with 
the  sensuous  and  historic  treatment  of  sanctities  tran- 
scending space  and  time,  and  the  matter-of-fact  use  of 
dogmatic  subtleties  which  have  their  place  in  metaphys- 
ical speculation,  but  are  not  fit  subjects  of  song.  The 
bold  anthropomorphism  of  Klopstock  —  whose  Deity 
answers  precisely  to  Matthew  Arnold's  "  non-natural 
man  "  —  would  be  intolerable,  did  we  not  look  at  it  from 
a  mythical  point  of  view.  We  have  to  forget,  not  only 
our  own  philosophic  views,  but  the  representations  of 
the  Christian  and  even  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  to  read 
with  complacency  of  a  God  who  travels  from  place  to 
place.  If  we  stop  to  criticise,  we  turn  with  disgust  from 
Klopstock' s  itinerant  Deity  to  the  Hebrew  poet's  sublimer 
conception,  —  "  Whither  shall  I  go  from  thy  spirit,  or 


142  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

whither  shall  I  flee  from  thy  presence  ? "  But  what  is 
repellent,  conceived  as  fact,  may,  if  we  throw  ourselves 
into  it,  be  enjoyable  as  myth.  Much  of  what  we  read, 
not  only  in  Klopstock  and  Milton  but  in  other  venerable 
writings,  must  be  taken  in  that  sense  if  enjoyed  at  all. 


LESSING.  143 


CHAPTER    X. 

LESSING. 

WHEN  literature  becomes  reflective,  and  in  pro- 
portion as  it  becomes  reflective,  it  changes  its 
constituency  from  the  ignorant  many  to  the  cultured 
few.  It  is  one  thing  to  please  the  public,  another  to 
educate  it.  A  crude  and  undisciplined  taste  delights  in 
tawdry  sentiment  and  flashy  rhetoric ;  the  instructed 
mind  prefers  a  severer  style,  with  intimations  of  re- 
served power.  Thus  literature  learns  to  correct  itself ; 
a  science  is  formed  which  discriminates  between  the 
true  and  the  false,  the  tinsel  and  the  gold,  —  and  not 
only  discriminates,  but  establishes  the  principles  and 
enunciates  the  rules  by  which  it  judges,  and  by  which 
we  are  to  judge  :  aesthetic  criticism. 

,   In  this  science  the  Germans  excel  all  nations ;  and 
in  this,  the  greatest  of  the  Germans  is  Lessing. 

Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing  was  born  in  1729,  twenty 
years  before  Goethe,  who  outlived  him  by  half  a  cen- 
tury. Criticism  with  him  assumes  a  dignity  unknown 
before,  rising  to  the  level  almost  of  creative  genius. 
His  "  Laocoon  ;  or.  The  Limits  of  Poetry  and  Painting," 
written  more  than  a  century  ago,  is  still  the  foremost 
work  of  its  kind.  It  initiated  a  new  era  in  critical  sci- 
ence, exploding  maxims  till  then  accepted  as  funda- 
mental truths,  especially  the  ut  pictura  poesis  of  the 


144  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ancients,  —  that  painting  is  silent  poetry,  and  poetry 
vocal  painting.  It  set  the  direction  and  defined  the 
principles  which  sound  criticism  has  followed  ever  since, 
and  must  always  follow. 

But  Lessing  was  something  more  than  a  critic ;  he 
was  an  emancipator.  He  is  rightly  named  the  "  sec- 
ond Luther,"  —  his  country's  deliverer  intellectually,  as 
Luther  was  spiritually.  He  emancipated  German  lit- 
erature once  and  forever  from  the  thraldom  of  French 
taste,  against  which  Gellert  and  Klopstock  had  striven 
in  vain.  In  fact,  German  literature  as  we  know  it  —  the 
modern  native  literature  of  Germany  —  dates  with  him. 
He  delivered  science  from  the  bondage  of  tradition, 
theology  from  the  bondage  of  the  letter,  and  the  life 
of  men  of  letters  from  the  bondage  of  Philistinism. 
One  quality  above  all  others  distinguished  him,  and 
distinguished  him  above  all  others,  —  unadulterated  love 
of  truth,  incorruptible  integrity  of  mind,  absolute  sin- 
cerity. Personified  Justice  is  pictured  in  our  courts  as 
holding  with  bandaged  eyes  an  even  balance :  Lessing's 
eyes  no  prejudice  could  bandage,  and  no  partiality  blind ; 
and  his  balance  was  always  even.  The  thing  he  most 
hated  in  men  of  letters  was  one-sidedness ;  the  thing  he 
could  least  tolerate  was  intolerance.  "It  is  not  error 
that  injures,"  he  said,  "  but  sectarian  error."  Whoever 
has  heard  about  him  at  all  has  probably  heard  of  that 
famous  saying  of  his,  —  that  if  God  were  to  offer  him 
all  truth  in  the  right  hand,  and  the  never-tiring  search 
of  truth  in  the  left,  with  the  privilege  of  choice  between 
the  two,  he  would  choose  the  left.  The  saying  is  very 
characteristic.  His  own  life  was  such  a  search.  Mod- 
ern literature  knows  no  more  devoted  champion  of 
spiritual  truth,  —  a  literary  Bayard,  without  fear  and 


LESSING,  145 

without  reproach.  He  passed  for  a  rationalist ;  his 
theological  writings,  including  the  "Education  of  the 
Human  Race,"  contain  the  germs  of  all  that  rational 
criticism  has  since  achieved  in  the  way  of  religious  en- 
lightenment and  theological  emancipation.  But  he  was 
no  iconoclast ;  the  bigotry  of  Rationalism  was  as  hateful 
to  him  as  the  bigotry  of  Orthodoxy.  He  could  discern, 
and  has  finely  stated,  the  ground  of  reason  that  underlies 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  He  could  even  defend  Leib- 
nitz's recognition  of  the  dogma  of  eternal  punishment 
as  embodying  an  element  of  truth.  No  iconoclast ;  his 
acuteness  in  detecting,  his  boldness  in  exposing,  error 
were  balanced  by  an  equal  reverence  for  all  the  sanctities 
of  history  and  life.  More  than  all,  he  was  a  scholar, 
broadly  and  profoundly  learned,  —  the  Casaubon,  the 
Scaliger  of  his  day,  who  grubbed  in  libraries  and  made 
discoveries ;  yet  no  pedant,  but  a  grub  of  the  sort  that 
can  turn  to  a  butterfly,  —  pre-eminently  the  scholar- 
poet. 

The  lives  of  most  literary  men  in  times  past  present 
a  tragical  aspect,  if  we  compare  their  talents  with  their 
fortunes,  the  worth  of  their  work  with  their  worldly 
success.  In  our  day  literary  labor,  excepting  that  of 
the  highest  order,  is  well  paid,  —  perhaps  overpaid,  in 
comparison  with  other  more  needful  work.  And  the 
tragedy  is  nowadays,  not  that  genius  starves,  but  that 
so  much  money  is  lavished  on  writing  where  no  genius 
is,  —  on  trashy  stories,  sensational  lectures,  trivial 
verses,  and  wordy  gossip,  and  magazine-rubbish,  — 
which  apparently  sells,  since  it  persists  to  litter  the 
land.  Even  in  our  day  a  genius  like  that  of  Lessing 
would  fail  of  its  dues  in  the  way  of  material  compen- 
sation ;  but  it  would,  at  the  least,  command  a  sufficient 

10 


146  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

material  support.  In  his  day  it  was  different ;  and  the 
life  of  Lessing  exhibits,  in  a  more  than  ordinary  degree, 
the  tragic  character  of  which  I  speak.  A  ceaseless 
struggle  it  was  with  parental  prejudice,  with  adverse 
opinion,  theological  persecution,  and  bitter  penury.  His 
father,  a  Lutheran  clergyman  of  the  ancient  orthodox 
stamp,  had  set  his  heart  on  Gotthold's  following  in  his 
steps ;  but  Gotthold,  at  Leipsic,  where  most  of  the  pro- 
fessors knew  less  than  himself,  became  acquainted  with 
the  theatre,  frequented  it,  even  wrote  for  it,  kept  com- 
pany with  actors, — and  that  at  a  time  when  actors  were 
thought  to  be  without  the  pale  of  salvation,  and  were 
denied  Christian  burial.  At  home,  in  Kamentz,  the  re- 
port of  these  things  —  exaggerated,  of  course,  by  officious 
tale-bearers,  and  representing  the  young  student  as  in- 
tending himself  to  go  upon  the  stage — created  an  alarm 
which  prompted  an  immediate  recall.  But  would  the 
youth  consent  to  forego  such  attractions  ?  Would  lie 
not,  under  one  or  another  pretext,  remain,  and  contract 
still  deeper  contamination  ?  There  was  one  thing  that 
would  fetch  him,  and  the  exigency  seemed  to  warrant  a 
pious  fraud.  The  father  wrote  :  "  Immediately  on  the 
receipt  of  this,  take  the  first  post  and  come  home  ;  your 
mother  is  dangerously  ill,  and  would  see  you  once  more 
before  she  dies."  Lessing  did  not  hesitate  ;  he  started 
at  once  in  the  depth  of  winter,  without  an  overcoat. 
No  sooner  was  the  letter  despatched  than  the  weather 
turned  unusually  severe,  and  the  tender  mother's  heart 
was  filled  with  new  fears ;  the  play-house  was  bad,  but 
•that  her  Gotthold  should  freeze  was  a  good  deal  worse. 
She  hoped  against  hope  that  he  would  not  obey  the  sum- 
mons ;  and  when  he  entered  the  house,  benumbed  with 
cold,  she  exclaimed,  "  Why  did  you  come  in  this  fearful 


LESSING.  147 

weather  ? "     "  Dear  mother,  you  wished  it.     I  am  glad 
you  are  not  sick  ;  I  hardly  believed  you  were." 

During  this  visit,  prolonged  to  the  close  of  the  winter, 
Lessing's  parents  endeavored  in  vain  to  dissuade  him 
from  what  he  considered  to  be  his  true  vocation,  —  the 
profession  of  Letters.  In  conformity  with  their  desire  he 
suffered  himself,  on  his  return  to  Leipsic,  to  be  enrolled 
as  a  student  of  medicine  ;  but  the  life  which  he  thence- 
forth embraced  in  the  face  of  all  discouragements,  and 
which  in  spite  of  all  vexations,  disappointments,  persecu- 
tions, poverty,  and  loss  he  pursued  to  the  end,  was  that 
of  littSrateur.  As  a  writer  for  the  stage,  as  translator  by 
the  job,  as  feuilletoniste,  antiquary,  original  investigator, 
learned  essayist,  in  Leipsic  and  Berlin ;  as  government 
secretary  in  Breslau,  as  theatrical  critic  in  Hamburg, 
as  librarian  of  the  ducal  library  in  Wolfenbiittel,  —  he 
labored,  fought,  and  suffered  through  thirty-three  years 
with  only  once  or  twice  a  transient  gleam  of  satisfac- 
tion, which  but  served  to  throw  into  deeper  relief  the 
thick  and  ever-thickening  shadows  of  his  ill-starred, 
unblessed  way,  —  always,  in  his  own  and  his  friends' 
expectation,  on  the  eve  of  some  lucrative  post  congenial 
with  his  gifts,  and  always  disappointed ;  or,  if  holding 
such  post  for  a  brief  term,  losing  it  again,  as  at  Ham- 
burg, before  he  was  fairly  settled  in  it,  by  no  fault  of 
his  own.  Openings  of  promise,  which  his  great  reputa- 
tion seemed  to  have  made  for  him,  closed,  upon  nearer 
approach,  to  his  tantalized  grasp.  Would-be  patrons 
cheated  him  of  the  salary  by  the  offer  of  which  they 
had  lured  him  to  their  side.  Frederick  the  Great,  who 
ought  to  have  found  a  place  for  the  greatest  intellect  in 
his  kingdom,  was  restrained  from  so  doing  by  the  stupid 
presumption  that  Germany  could  produce  nothing  in  the 


148  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

literary  line  that  deserved  to  be  patronized.  It  must 
have  been  with  special  reference  to  Lessing  that  Schiller 
said  of  the  German  Muse,  — 

*'  Von  dem  grdssten  deutschen  Sohne, 
Von  des  grossen  Friedrich's  Throne, 
Ging  sie  schutzlos,  ungeehrt." 

By  the  death  of  the  keeper  of  the  royal  library,  in 
1765,  an  office  became  vacant,  which  Lessing's  friends 
endeavored  to  obtain  for  him,  and  which,  if  obtained, 
would  have  yielded,  not  an  ample  indeed,  but  an  ade- 
quate support.  Connected  with  this  office  was  that  of 
custodian  of  the  royal  cabinet  of  coins  and  antiquities. 
There  were  two  men  in  Europe  at  that  time,  above  all 
others,  especially  fitted  for  the  double  office.  One  of 
them  was  Lessing,  the  other  was  Winckelmann.  It  was 
offered  to  Winckelmann,  with  the  promise  at  first  of  a 
salary  of  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  thalers.  But 
when  Winckelmann  signified  his  acceptance,  the  mis- 
taken economy  of  the  king  proposed  to  reduce  the  salary 
by  one  half.  Then  Winckelmann  indignantly  withdrew, 
and  the  claims  of  Lessing  were  strenuously  urged, — 
among  others,  by  Guichard,  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
king,  who,  though  a  Frenchman,  understood  that  no 
countryman  of  his  own,  or  of  any  other  country,  could 
compete  with  Lessing  in  the  erudition  demanded  for  the 
office  in  question.  He  told  the  king,  who  expressed  his 
distrust  of  the  Germans  and  his  preference  for  the 
French,  that  if  he  would  not  take  a  German  he  must 
go  without  a  sufficient  man  for  the  office,  inasmuch  as 
thorough  scholars  like  Lessing  were  no  longer  to  be 
found  among  the  French  or  other  nations.  His  indis- 
creet zeal  ruined  his  cause.    The  king  persisted  in  depre- 


LESSING.  149 

elating  the  Grermans,  and  extolled  the  superior  learning 
of  the  Benedictines  of  St.  Maur.  Lessing  he  would  not 
have,  but  imported  a  librarian  from  Paris,  one  Pernety, 
who  proved  —  as  Wilken,  historian  of  the  library  of  Ber- 
lin, relates  —  entirely  incompetent  for  the  work  required  ; 
moreover,  he  was  addicted  to  all  sorts  of  superstitions, 
alchemy,  and  ghost-seeing,  and  finally  resigned  his  post 
because  some  preacher  had  prophesied  the  coming  end 
of  the  world,  a  catastrophe  which  was  to  begin  in  the 
province  of  Brandenburg.  He  returned  to  France  in 
1783,  and  there,  in  the  words  of  Stahr,  he  did  indeed 
behold  the  destruction  of  a  world,  although  of  a  very 
different  one  from  that  intended  by  the  prophet. 

This  was  one  of  the  frequent,  swift-succeeding  disap- 
pointments which  made  the  life  of  Lessing  a  prolonged 
tragedy.  In  spite  of  philosophy,  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
luck,  and  the  want  of  it.  The  inequalities  of  fortune  are 
never  more  glaring,  and  never  more  perplexing,  than 
when  great  gifts  and  extraordinary  merit  can  find  no 
place  and  no  remunerative  work,  while  mediocrity  occu- 
pies important  posts  with  unprofitable  service.  In  such 
cases  the  law  of  compensation  hides  itself,  and  our  only 
defence  against  doubt  of  divine  rule  is  the  faith  that 
somewhere  and  somehow  the  balance  is  made  even, 
or  at  least  that  scanty  having  is  repaired  by  superior 
being. 

The  best  of  Lessing's  contemporaries  —  men  like  Wie- 
land,Gleim,  Mendelssohn,  Kleist — were  with  him  and  for 
him  ;  but  they  were  few  and  without  means.  They  could 
do  nothing  for  him  but  recommend  him  for  offices  which 
he  never  obtained.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mediocre 
men,  whose  prejudices  he  did  not  share,  whose  traditions 
he  could  not  follow,  were  against  him.     For  them  it  was 


150  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

enough  that  he  was  a  genius.     Genius  is  the  one  thing 
that  mediocrity  can  never  forgive. 

Among  the  other  tragedies  of  Lessing's  life  was  the 
loss  of  a  beloved  wife  in  the  second  or  third  year  of  their 
marriage,  after  a  betrothal  of  six  forlorn  years,  in  which 
poverty  and  other  troubles  had  delayed  their  union.  She 
died  after  giving  birth  to  a  child,  —  a  birth  which  required 
the  use  of  surgical  instruments.  The  child  breathed  but 
twenty-four  hours  ;  the  mother  followed  in  two  or  three 
days.  The  union,  while  it  lasted,  had  been  one  of  singu- 
lar fitness  and  mutual  delight.  It  had  given  Lessing  the 
one  gleam  of  sunshine,  the  one  green  spot,  in  a  life  of 
storm  and  woe.  Soon  after  the  death  of  his  child,  while 
his  wife  lay  senseless,  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Eschenburg, 
with  that  ghastly  wit  which  extreme  grief  will  sometimes 
wring  from  the  soul,  — 

"  My  joy  was  brief,  and  I  was  sorry  to  lose  him,  this  son  of 
mine ;  he  had  so  much  sense  !  Oh,  so  much  sense  !  Do  not 
think  that  the  few  hours  of  my  paternity  have  made  me  such 
an  ape  of  a  father.  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Was  it 
not  a  proof  of  his  sense  that  they  were  obliged  to  drag  him  into 
the  world  with  a  forceps  ;  that  he  so  soon  became  disgusted  with 
his  new  abode  ?  Was  it  not  a  proof  of  sense  that  he  seized  the 
first  opportunity  to  be  off  again  ?  I  had  wished  just  for  once 
to  have  some  comfort  like  other  people,  but  it  has  turned  out 
badly  for  me." 

Hegel,  commenting  on  this  calamity,  says  :  — 

"  Should  we  not  think  that  if  one  could  foresee  such  a  des- 
tiny, he  would  choose  an  earlier  death  than  Nature  intended  ? 
Undoubtedly  Lessing  would  have  greatly  preferred  an  earlier 
death  ;  he  was  weary  enough  of  the  burden  of  life,  but  he 
would  not  anticipate  the  end.  '  I  set  my  teeth,'  he  said,  '  and 
let  the  boat  drift  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves.  Enough 
that  I  will  not  of  myself  capsize  it.'  '* 


LESSING.  151 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  affliction  that  the  bigot 
Gotze,  a  Hamburg  divine,  assailed  Lessing  with  coarse 
invective,  and  even  invoked  against  him  the  wrath  of 
the  secular  power  for  having  published  some  fragments 
found  in  the  Wolfenbiittel  library  which  were  thought 
to  war  against  the  Christian  religion.  Duty  to  himself, 
and  to  what  he  considered  the  cause  of  spiritual  freedom, 
constrained  him  to  gird  up  his  soul  for  this  new  contro- 
versy ;  and  in  dealing  with  Gotze,  whom  his  satire  has 
damned  to  everlasting  fame,  and  in  the  composition  of 
"  Nathan  the  Wise,"  the  crown  of  his  literary  labors,  he 
found  an  anodyne,  if  not  the  cure,  for  his  woes.  He  had 
not  long  to  wait  for  that  cure,  complete  and  final.  Three 
years  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  in  1781,  in  his  fifty- 
third  year,  he  laid  down  the  life  which  had  brought  so 
much  labor  and  sorrow  to  himself,  and  borne  such  im- 
perishable fruit  to  the  world. 

Lessing's  death  was  a  shock  to  all  his  literary  friends, 
who  were  hoping  from  the  pen  that  had  given  so  much  still 
better  things  to  come.  But  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  child, 
though  it  could  not  arrest  his  literary  labors,  had  dried 
the  springs  of  his  animal  life  and  wrought  in  the  man 
of  fifty  a  premature  decline.  He  died  so  poor  that  the 
Duke  of  Brunswick,  in  whose  service  he  had  labored,  was 
compelled  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  burial.  So  ended 
the  slow  tragedy  of  that  baffled,  broken,  blasted  life.  To 
the  everlasting  shame  of  the  princes  of  his  day  and  coun- 
try, it  stands  recorded  —  a  record  which  no  subsequent 
honors  awarded  to  his  memory  can  efface  —  that  the 
foremost  scholar  of  the  eighteenth  century  died  a  pau- 
per. When  in  after  years  it  was  proposed  to  erect  a 
monument  to  his  name,  so  completely  had  all  knowledge 
of  the  resting-place  of  his  remains  passed  away,  that 


152  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Dr.  Schiller  with  difficulty  succeeded  in  finding,  "  hidden 
among  weeds  and  briers,  a  little  headstone  which,  cleared 
of  earth  and  moss,  revealed  the  name  of  Lessing."  The- 
ological hatred  pursued  him  beyond  the  bier.  In  Ham- 
burg the  censors  of  the  press  forbade  the  newspapers  to 
print  any  tribute  to  his  memory.  But  the  best  intellects 
in  Germany  bewailed  his  loss  with  grief  unfeigned.  It 
was  felt  that  life  and  strength  had  gone  out  with  his 
death  ;  and  the  oldest  poet  then  living  wrote  :  — 

"  Him  have  we  lost  who  was  our  greatest  pride, 
Him  who  abroad  had  won  our  nation  fame. 
God  said,  Let  there  be  light,  and  Leibnitz  came ; 
God  said,  Let  darkness  be,  and  Lessing  died." 

Mendelssohn,  his  life-long  friend,  wrote  to  his  brother, 
Karl  Lessing :  — 

"  All  things  considered,  your  brother,  my  friend,  departed  at 
just  the  right  time.  At  the  right  time  not  only  in  relation  to 
the  plan  of  the  universe,  —  for  in  that  relation  nothing  is  un- 
timely, —  but  also  at  the  right  time  in  relation  to  this  our 
sphere,  which  has  scarcely  a  span's  breadth.  Fontenelle  says 
of  Copernicus,  '  He  made  known  his  new  system,  and  died.' 
The  biographer  of  your  brother  will  be  able  to  say,  '  He  wrote 
"  Nathan  the  Wise,"  and  died.'  I  can  form  no  conception  of  a 
work  which  should  be  as  much  superior  to  *  Nathan  the  Wise  * 
as  that  is  superior  in  my  view  to  everything  else  that  Lessing 
wrote.  He  could  mount  no  higher  without  entering  a  region 
where  he  would  be  lost  to  our  sight.  This  he  has  done.  And 
we,  like  the  disciples  of  the  Prophet,  stand  and  gaze  at  the  spot 
where  he  ascended  and  disappeared.  A  few  weeks  before  his 
death  I  had  occasion  to  write  to  him,  and  I  said  that  he  must 
not  be  surprised  if  the  great  mass  of  his  readers  should  fail  to 
recognize  the  merits  of  that  work,  and  that  a  better  generation 
fifty  years  after  his  death  would  find  enough  to  do  to  chew  and 


LESSING.  153 

digest  it.     Indeed,  he  had  outstripped  his  age  by  more  than  one 
generation." 

The  writings  of  Lessing  may  be  classed  under  four 
heads,  —  Critical,  Poetical,  Theological,  and  Biblio- 
graphical. 

Of  the  critical,  the  most  important  are  the  "  Laocoon  " 
and  the  "  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic "  (criticisms  of 
dramatic  writers).  Under  the  poetical  I  include,  to- 
gether with  the  smaller  poems,  the  plays  and  the  fables. 
The  larger  part,  and  the  best  part,  of  the  fables  are 
prose  compositions,  as  indeed  are  the  plays,  with  the 
exception  of  "  Nathan  the  Wise."  But  being  works  of 
art,  —  artistic  fictions,  —  I  do  not  hesitate  to  rank  them 
as  poetry.  The  author  excuses  the  want  of  metrical 
form  in  the  introductory  fable. 

The  theological  writings  are  partly  controversial, 
called  forth  by  the  publication  of  the  so-called  "  Wolf- 
enblittel  Fragments,"  works  of  a  deistical  character,  by 
an  anonymous  author ;  partly  dissertations  suggested 
by  those  Fragments,  and  partly  they  consist  of  mis- 
cellaneous essays,  such  as  the  "  Christianity  of  Reason  " 
and  the  "  Education  of  the  Human  Race," — which,  brief 
as  they  are,  contain  the  germs,  as  I  have  said,  and  were 
the  pioneers  of  the  more  advanced  theology  of  recent 
time. 

The  class  which  I  have  designated  bibliographical 
embraces  all  that  is  not  included  in  the  other  three,  — 
results  of  life-long  studies,  researches,  and  discoveries 
among  the  treasures  of  the  Wolfenbtittel  Library,  of 
which  the  author  was  custodian.  One  curious  volume 
bears  the  title,  "  Rettungen,"  —  literally  "  Rescues,"  — 
vindications  of  writers  from  imputations  and  reproaches 
which  have  long  attached  to  their  name. 


154  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

Never,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  literature  has  a 
writer,  by  mere  expression  of  opinion,  by  simple  judg- 
ment of  other's  doings,  independently  of  his  own  crea- 
tions, exerted  such  influence  as  Lessing.  Whatever  the 
merits  of  his  dramatic  and  other  original  compositions, 
it  was  mainly  by  his  critical  writings  that  he  became  the 
power  he  was  and  is  in  the  world  of  letters.  Lord  Macau- 
lay  pronounced  him  beyond  dispute  the  best  critic  that 
Europe  has  produced.  And  what  was  true  in  relation  to 
the  writers  of  the  eighteenth  century,  whom  Macaulay 
had  in  mind,  is  equally  true  in  relation  to  the  writers  of 
the  nineteenth.  In  the  hundred  years  that  have  elapsed 
since  Lessing's  death,  there  has  arisen  no  one  to  dispute 
his  supremacy  in  that  line.  In  accordance  with  that 
character,  the  most  pronounced  faculty  in  his  mental 
composition  was  the  power  of  discrimination,  the  judg- 
ing power,  —  Urtheilskraft. 

It  is  noticeable  in  this  connection  that  Lessing  was 
the  first  of  continental  critics  to  claim  for  Shakspeare 
that  supreme  rank  among  poets  which  the  universal 
voice  now  accords  to  him.  Scarcely,  indeed,  had  any 
English  writer  then  ventured  to  speak  of  him  with 
eulogy  so  unqualified.  By  a  curious  coincidence.  Dr. 
Johnson  and  Lessing,  each  in  his  own  country  the 
foremost  litterateur  of  his  day,  were  writing  about 
Shakspeare  at  the  same  time,  in  1768,  —  Lessing,  in 
his  dramatic  criticisms  at  Hamburg,  in  which  he  re- 
peatedly refers  to  the  great  master,  and  Johnson,  in  his 
well-known  Preface  to  his  edition  of  Shakspeare's  works, 
in  which  he  strangely  affirms,  intending  it  for  praise, 
that  while  ''  in  the  writings  of  other  poets  a  character  is 
often  an  individual,  in  those  of  Shakspeare  it  is  com- 
monly a  species."     Pope,  with  far  deeper  discernment. 


LESSING.  155 

wrote,  that  Shakspeare's  characters  were  nearly  all  in- 
dividuals. Johnson  has  many  deductions  to  make  from 
the  merit  of  his  subject ;  but  he  does  say,  grandly,  that 
"the  stream  of  Time,  which  is  continually  washing 
the  dissoluble  fabrics  of  other  poets,  passes  without  in- 
jury by  the  adamant  of  Shakspeare."  Lessing,  who 
had  previously  declared  that  of  all  poets  since  Homer, 
Shakspeare  was  the  one  who  had  looked  human  nature 
through  and  through,  takes  occasion  to  say,  in  his  cri- 
tique of  Weisse's  "  Richard  III.,"  whose  author  dis- 
claimed having  plagiarized  Shakspeare,  that  such  dis- 
claimer presupposes  that  Shakspeare  can  be  plagiarized. 
"  But  what  was  said  of  Homer  —  that  you  might  sooner 
deprive  Hercules  of  his  club  than  take  a  single  line  from 
the  Iliad  or  the  Odyssey  —  is  especially  applicable  to 
Shakspeare :  on  the  meanest  of  his  beauties  a  mark  is 
set,  which  proclaims  to  the  world, '  I  am  Shakspeare's ; ' 
and  woe  to  any  other  beauty  that  would  dare  to  appear 
beside  it !  " 

Lessing  had  a  talent  for  satire,  which  he  seldom  in- 
dulges, and  which,  when  indulged,  is  not  of  the  bitter 
but  the  playful  sort,  as  in  his  controversy  with  Gotze, 
whose  ignorance  and  blunders  he  exposes  with  a  half 
compassionate  raillery.  This  satirical  propensity  is 
more  conspicuous  in  his  earlier  efforts  ;  it  inspired 
many  of  his  fugitive  poems,  and  appears  occasionally 
in  his  fables.  To  appreciate  the  following  morceau^  it 
must  be  borne  in  mind  how  largely  German  literature, 
mistrusting  its  own  vocation,  occupied  itself  with  imi- 
tation of  foreign  models  :  — 

"  Said  the  ape  to  the  fox,  *  Name  to  me  an  animal  so  clever 
that  I  cannot  imitate.'     The  fox  answered,  '  Name  to  me  an 


156  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

animal  so  insignificant   that   would   think   of   imitating   you.' 
Writers  of  my  country,  need  I  express  myself  more  plainly  ?  " 

A  more  questionable  sarcasm  is  embodied  in  the  Fable 
of  the  Furies  :  — 

"  Said  Pluto  to  the  messenger  of  the  gods,  '  My  Furies  are 
getting  old  and  dull ;  I  must  have  a  fresh  supply.  Go,  then, 
Mercury,  and  procure  for  me  in  the  upper  world  three  doughty 
women  for  that  office.'  Mercury  went.  Shortly  after,  Juno 
said  to  her  handmaid,  'Do  you  think.  Iris,  that  you  could  find 
for  me,  among  the  race  of  mortals,  three  perfectly  strict  and 
chaste  maidens  ?  But  perfectly  strict  they  must  be,  you  under- 
stand. I  wish  to  throw  scorn  on  Cythera,  who  boasts  that  she 
has  the  whole  sex  in  subjection.  Go  and  see  if  you  can  find 
them.'  Iris  went.  In  what  corner  of  the  earth  did  she  not 
search  ;  but  all  in  vain.  She  returned  unattended.  Juno  met 
her  with  the  exclamation,  '  Is  it  possible  ?  O  chastity !  O 
virtue ! '  '  Goddess,'  said  Iris,  '  I  might  have  brought  you  three 
maidens  who  were  all  perfectly  strict  and  chaste ;  the  three  had 
never  smiled  upon  a  man ;  all  three  had  stifled  every  spark 
of  love  in  their  hearts ;  but,  unfortunately,  I  came  too  late.' 
'  Too  late  ! '  quoth  Juno,  '  how  so  ?  '  '  Mercury  had  just  got 
hold  of  them  for  Pluto.'  *  For  Pluto  !  And  what  does  Pluto 
want  of  these  virtuous  maidens  ?  '  *  He  wants  them  for 
Furies.'  " 

Lessing's  fables  bear  the  stamp  of  his  peculiar  genius. 
Even  here  the  critic  predominates.  They  are  more  epi- 
grammatic, less  didactic,  less  historic  than  those  of 
other  fabulists.  There  is  in  them  less  of  observation 
and  more  of  reflection  than  in  most  compositions  of  the 
kind.  In  most  fables  the  story  seems  to  have  been  first 
conceived,  and  the  moral  to  be  a  reflection  upon  it.  In 
those  of  Lessing  the  story  is  more  obviously  invented  to 
illustrate  a  foregone  thought.  One  or  two  specimens 
may  serve  as  examples  :  — 


LESSING.  157 

THE   WASPS. 

Corruption  had  befallen  the  noble  structure  of  a  war-horse 
which  had  been  shot  beneath  his  rider.  Ever-working  Nature 
employs  the  ruins  of  one  being  for  the  life  of  another.  And 
so  a  swarm  of  young  wasps  arose  from  the  carrion.  "  Oh," 
cried  the  wasps,  "  how  divine  is  our  origin  !  The  magnificent 
horse,  the  favorite  of  Neptune,  is  our  progenitor."  The  ob- 
servant fabulist  heard  this  strange  boast,  and  it  reminded  him 
of  the  modern  Italians,  whose  conceit  it  is  that  they  are  noth- 
ing less  than  descendants  of  the  old  immortal  Romans,  because 
they  were  born  among  their  graves. 

THE  WOLF  ON  HIS  DEATH-BED. 

The  wolf  lay  at  the  last  gasp,  and  cast  a  searching  look  on 
his  past  life.  "  It  is  true  I  am  a  sinner,"  he  said,  "  but  I  trust 
not  one  of  the  worst.  I  have  been  guilty  of  some  wrong  acts, 
but  I  have  also  done  many  good  ones.  I  remember  how  once 
a  bleating  lamb,  that  had  strayed  from  the  flock,  came  so  near 
to  me  that  I  might  have  throttled  it ;  but  I  did  not  harm  it. 
At  the  same  time  I  heard,  with  the  most  astonishing  indiffer- 
ence, the  mocking  taunts  of  a  sheep,  although  I  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  protecting  dogs."  "  I  can  testify  to  all  that,"  said 
his  friend,  the  fox,  who  was  helping  him  prepare  for  death  ;  "  I 
remember  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case :  it  was  when  you 
were  choking  so  horribly  with  that  bone  which  afterward  the 
good-natured  crane  extracted  from  your  throat." 

THE  BLIND  HEN. 

A  hen,  which  had  become  blind,  being  accustomed  to  scratch 
for  food,  continued  the  operation  after  the  loss  of  her  sight. 
What  did  it  avail  the  industrious  fool  ?  Another  hen,  who  had 
the  use  of  her  eyes,  and  wished  to  spare  her  tender  feet,  kept 
close  to  her  side,  and  had  all  the  benefit  of  the  scratching.  As 
often  as  the  blind  hen  turned  up  a  corn,  the  seeing  one  de- 
voured it.  The  industrious  German  collects  the  materials 
which  the  witty  Frenchman  uses. 


158  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Lessing  was  too  thorough  a  critic,  and  too  wise  and 
modest  a  man,  not  to  be  able  to  criticise  himself.  With 
the  same  measure  with  which  he  meted  to  others,  he 
could  measure  his  own  writings  and  pronounce  upon 
their  worth.  In  the  exercise  of  this  self-criticism  he 
disclaimed  for  himself  the  title  of  poet.     He  says :  — 

"It  is  true,  men  have  sometimes  done  me  the  honor  to  rank 
me  in  that  class  ;  but  they  have  misconceived  me.  ...  I  do  not 
feel  springing  within  me  the  living  fountain  which  struggles 
forth  of  its  own  force,  and  by  its  own  force  shoots  up  in  rich, 
fresh,  and  pure  streams.  I  have  to  squeeze  everything  out  of 
myself  by  pressure  and  pipes.  ...  I  have  therefore  always  been 
shamed  or  vexed  when  I  have  heard  or  read  anything  in  dis- 
praise of  criticism.  It  has  been  said  to  stifle  genius,  and  I  had 
flattered  myself  that  I  had  derived  from  it  something  which 
approaches  very  near  to  genius." 

It  is  certainly  true  that  Lessing  lacks  some  of  the 
qualities  which  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  the 
name  of  poet ;  and  if  these  be  rigorously  insisted  on  as 
indispensable  to  constitute  a  member  of  the  craft,  he  can 
hardly  be  said  to  come  within  the  line  which  separates 
poetry  from  prose.  The  understanding  is  disproportion- 
ately active  in  him  ;  passion  is  weak  ;  of  fancy,  of  poetic 
feeling,  there  is  almost  nothing.  He  is  no  singer,  and 
no  orator ;  he  seems  to  have  no  perception  of  the  charm 
of  rhythm  or  of  eloquence.  There  is  not  in  all  his  writ- 
ings what  might  be  called  a  melodious  strain  or  a  stirring 
speech  ;  no  glow,  and  no  sweetness.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  some  passages  of  enlivening  wit,  all  is  cold,  hard, 
dry.  We  have  the  frame-work  of  a  poem,  the  bony 
structure,  with  too  little  filling  of  flesh  and  blood.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  the  power  of  literary  invention,  of 
pure  creation,  —  if  the  faculty  of  apt  characterization, 


LESSING.  159 

founded  on  correct  observation  of  human  life  ;  if  the 
production  of  a  work  of  fiction,  a  rounded  whole,  in 
which  the  parts  are  nicely  adjusted,  the  characters  nat- 
ural, the  plot  well  contrived,  and  which,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  century,  still  holds  its  place  in  the  admiration  of  the 
reader,  —  if  these  things  entitle  a  man  to  be  called  a 
poet ;  if  a  poet  be  defined  according  to  the  literal  mean- 
ing of  the  word,  a  maker,  —  then  surely  Lessing  may 
rank  as  such. 

German  literature  is  indebted  to  him  for  some  of  its 
best  dramatic  works.  His  "  Minna  von  Barnhelm " 
struck  out  a  new  path  in  the  line  of  local  comedy,  and 
exerted  a  marked  influence  on  the  mind  of  the  period 
when  it  appeared. 

A  work  of  far  greater  importance,  one  of  the  choice 
gems  of  modern  dramatic  art,  is  his  "  Emilia  Galotti," 
a  tragedy  which  is  still  a  favorite  on  the  German  stage. 
This  play  is  remarkable  for  the  simplicity  of  its  plot,  the 
close  connection  of  all  its  parts,  its  apt  characterizations, 
and  the  onward  sweep  and  cumulative  force  of  its  action, 
which  occupies  but  a  few  consecutive  hours.  The  catas- 
trophe is  borrowed  from  the  story  of  the  Roman  com- 
moner who  slays  his  daughter  to  save  her  from  the 
clutches  of  a  licentious  noble.  But  here  the  resemblance 
ends.  All  the  circumstances  are  different ;  in  this  case 
the  father  but  follows  the  suggestion  and  executes  the 
will  of  his  victim. 

An  Italian  prince,  sovereign  of  a  petty  realm,  at  a 
time  when  princes  possessed  unlimited,  irresponsible 
power,  falls  in  love  with  a  young  maiden,  Emilia,  daugh- 
ter of  Odoardo  Galotti.  The  new  passion  deprives  his 
mistress,  the  Countess  Orsina,  of  the  place  she  has  held 
in  his  affections  ;  a  letter  from  her  requesting  an  inter- 


160  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

view  at  his  villa  in  Dosalo  remains  unread.  He  learns 
that  Emilia  is  betrothed  to  Count  Appiani,  and  that  the 
very  day  on  which  the  action  of  the  play  begins  is  to  be 
their  wedding-day.  His  confidant,  Marinelli,  the  un- 
scrupulous pander  to  his  vices,  suggests  to  him  the  pos- 
sibility of  preventing  the  marriage  and  getting  possession 
of  the  bride.  The  prince  empowers  him  to  take  such 
measures  as  he  may  deem  needful  to  accomplish  this 
end.  Accordingly,  Marinelli  engages  a  bravo  with  his 
accomplices  to  attack  the  carriage  which  is  to  convey 
Appiani,  Emilia,  and  her  mother  to  the  wedding,  as  it 
passes  Dosalo,  the  country  residence  of  the  prince.  The 
father,  Odoardo,  is  to  come  later  on  horseback.  The 
attack  is  made.  Appiani,  against  whom  Marinelli  has 
a  personal  grudge,  is  killed.  The  mother  and  daughter, 
supposing  the  assailants  to  be  robbers,  seek  refuge  in  the 
nearest  dwelling,  not  knowing  it  to  be  the  castle  of  the 
prince,  who  has  thus,  as  he  imagines,  secured  his  victim. 
The  carriage  with  the  body  of  Appiani  returns  to  the 
city.  Odoardo,  who  was  to  follow  after,  hears  of  the 
catastrophe,  and,  without  suspecting  its  author  and  mo- 
tive, spurs  on  to  the  castle  in  quest  of  his  wife  and 
daughter.  There,  before  he  is  admitted  to  their  pres- 
ence, he  encounters  the  Countess  Orsina,  who  has  come 
to  Dosalo  expecting  the  interview  with  the  prince  which 
she  had  requested  in  her  unopened  letter,  and  has  learned 
from  Marinelli  what  has  happened.  Her  jealousy  sus- 
pects a  rival  in  Emilia,  and  puts  the  right  interpretation 
on  the  slaughter  of  Appiani  and  the  capture  of  the  bride. 
Slie  imparts  her  suspicion  to  Odoardo,  who  secretly  pre- 
pares himself  for  the  worst.  The  prince  meets  him  with 
great  affability  and  a  show  of  warm  sympathy,  affects  to 
condole  with  him,  and  regrets  the  pretended  necessity 


LESSING.  161 

of  detaining  Emilia  as  a  witness  in  the  trial  by  which 
the  murder  of  Appiani  is  to  be  investigated  and  avenged. 
The  mother  had  already  returned  to  the  city  in  company 
with  the  Orsina,  at  Odoardo's  request,  and  was  to  send 
a  carriage  for  her  daughter.  The  father  sees  through 
the  plot, —  a  devilish  device  of  Marinelli,  —  but  restrains 
himself  and  requests  a  private  interview  with  his  daugh- 
ter, which  is  accorded  to  him.  The  meeting  between 
parent  and  child  is  one  of  deep  sorrow,  but  awakens  in 
both  stern  resolve.  Both  are  convinced  of  the  hopeless- 
ness of  her  position,  of  the  impossibility  of  escaping  the 
machinations  of  the  prince  and  his  pander.  At  last 
Emilia  reminds  Odoardo  of  the  story  of  Yirginius,  and 
regrets  in  a  tone  of  reproach  that  such  fathers  are  no 
longer  to  be  found  in  the  world.  Odoardo  assures  her 
that  the  race  is  not  extinct,  and  plunges  his  dagger  in 
her  breast. 

One  of  the  best  drawn  characters  in  the  play  is  the 
Countess  Orsina,  the  former  mistress  of  the  prince.  She 
had  written  to  him  to  meet  her  at  Dosalo,  but  the  prince, 
possessed  by  his  new  passion,  has  lost  his  interest  in  her, 
and  has  not  even  read  her  letter.  She  comes  to  Dosalo, 
expecting  an  interview  with  her  lover,  and  is  met  in  an 
antechamber  by  Marinelli.  She  is  about  to  pass  on, 
when  Marinelli  stops  her. 

Mar.  (holding  her  back).    Whither  would  you,  my  lady  ? 

Ors.  Where  I  ought  to  have  been  long  since.  Do  you  think 
it  is  proper  for  me  to  be  bandying  words  with  you  in  the  ante- 
chamber, while  the  Prince  expects  me  in  yonder  apartment  ? 

Mar.  You  are  mistaken,  my  lady.  The  Prince  does  not  ex- 
pect you.     He  cannot ;  he  will  not  meet  you  here. 

Ors.  And  yet  he  is  here,  —  here  in  consequence  of  my 
letter  ? 

Mar.   Not  in  consequence  of  your  letter. 

11 


162  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Ors.    You  say  he  received  it. 

Mar.    Received,  but  did  not  read  it. 

Ors.  (with  vehemence).  Did  not  read  it?  {More  gently.)  Did 
not  even  read  it  ? 

Mar.  I  am  sure  it  was  from  absent-mindedness,  not  from 
contempt. 

Ors.  Qiaughtily).  Contempt  !  Who  supposes  that  ?  To 
whom  do  you  find  it  necessary  to  say  that  ?  You  are  an  im- 
pudent comforter,  Marinelli !  Contempt !  Am  I  a  person  to 
be  despised  ?  {In  milder  tones,  with  a  touch  of  sadness.)  It  is 
true,  he  no  longer  loves  me.  That  is  decided.  And  in  the 
place  of  love  there  came  into  his  soul  something  else.  That  is 
natural.  But  why  must  it  be  contempt  ?  It  need  only  be  in- 
difference.    Is  it  not  so,  Marinelli  ? 

Mar.    Certainly!  certainly! 

Ors.  {mockingly).  Certainly  ?  Oh,  the  wise  man  whom  one 
can  make  say  what  one  will !  Indifference !  Indifference  in 
the  place  of  love.  That  is,  nothing  in  the  place  of  something. 
For  you  shall  know,  you  mimicking  little  courtier,  —  you  shall 
learn  from  a  woman,  —  that  indifference  is  an  empty  word,  a 
mere  sound,  to  which  nothing  answers.  The  soul  is  indifferent 
only  to  that  which  is  not  in  its  thought,  —  only  to  that  which 
is  nothing  to  it.  And  to  be  indifferent  only  to  a  thing  which  is 
no  thing  is  the  same  as  not  being  indifferent  at  all.  Am  I  too 
high  for  you,  man  ? 

Mar.  Who  does  not  know,  my  lady,  that  you  are  a  phi- 
losopher ? 

Ors.  Am  I  not  ?  Yes,  yes,  I  am  one.  But  now  I  have  let 
it  be  seen  that  I  am  one  Oh,  fie !  if  I  have  let  it  be  seen,  is  it 
strange  that  the  Prince  despises  me  ?  How  can  a  man  love  a 
thing  that,  in  spite  of  him,  will  think  ?  A  woman  who  thinks 
is  as  disgusting  as  a  man  who  paints.  She  must  laugh,  do 
nothing  but  laugh,  in  order  to  keep  the  stern  lord  of  creation 
in  perpetual  good  humor.  Well,  then,  what  shall  I  laugh  at 
in  a  hurry,  Marinelli  ?  Ah,  yes,  at  the  accident  of  my  writing 
to  the  Prince  to  come  to  Dosalo,  —  at  his  not  reading  my  letter, 
and  yet  coming  to  Dosalo !     Ha  !  ha  !     Really,  a  curious  acci- 


LESSING.  163 

dent !  Very  funny  !  very  droll !  And  you  do  not  join  in  my 
laugh,  Marinelli  ?  Surely,  the  stern  lords  of  creation  may  laugh 
with  us,  though  we  must  not  think  with  them.  (Serious  and 
commanding.)     Laugh,  I  tell  you  ! 

Mar.    Presently,  my  lady,  presently. 

Ors.  Blockhead  !  And  meanwhile  the  opportunity  slips  by. 
No,  do  not  laugh.  For  look  you,  Marinelli,  what  makes  me 
laugh  so  heartily  has  also  its  grave,  very  grave  side,  like 
everything  else  in  the  world.  Accident  I  Did  I  say  it  was 
an  accident  that  the  Prince  did  not  think  of  meeting  me  here, 
and  yet  is  forced  to  meet  me  ?  Believe  me,  Marinelli,  the  word 
accident  is  blasphemy  !  Nothing  under  the  sun  is  accidental,  — 
least  of  all  that  of  which  the  design  is  so  apparent.  Almighty, 
all-merciful  Providence,  forgive  me,  that  to  this  foolish  sinner 
I  called  that  an  accident  which  is  so  evidently  thy  work ! 
(Impatiently  to  Marinelli.)  Take  care  how  you  tempt  me 
again  to  such  wickedness. 

[  The  Prince  enters ;  he  crosses  the  hall  without  stopping, 
saying,  as  he  passes,'] 

Prince.  See  there,  our  fair  Countess !  How  sorry  I  am, 
Madame,  that  I  cannot  avail  myself,  to-day,  of  the  honor  of 
your  visit.  I  am  busy  ;  I  am  not  alone.  Another  time,  my 
dear  Countess,  another  time.  At  present,  do  not  stop,  —  do 
not  wait,  on  no  account.  And  you,  Marinelli,  I  am  expecting 
you.     [^£Jxit. 

Mar.  There,  my  lady,  you  have  it  from  his  own  lips  what 
you  would  not  take  from  mine.  .  .  . 

Ors.  Busy !  Not  alone !  Is  that  all  the  apology  I  am 
thought  worthy  of  ?  Whom  does  one  not  dismiss  with  such 
excuses  ?  Any  bore,  any  beggar.  No  additional  lie  for  me  ? 
Not  one  little  lie  more  for  me  ?  Busy !  —  about  what  ?  Not 
alone  !  —  who  is  with  him  ?  Come,  Marinelli,  for  pity,  dear 
Marinelli,  tell  me  a  lie  on  your  own  account !  A  lie,  you 
know,  costs  you  nothing.  What  is  his  business  ?  Who  is  with 
him  ?  Tell  me  ;  say  the  first  thing  that  comes  into  your 
mouth,  and  I  will  go. 


164  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Marinelli  then  tells  her  that  Count  Appiani,  who  as 
she  has  heard  has  been  shot  by  robbers,  was  to  have 
been  married  that  day  to  Emilia  Galotti,  then  present 
with  the  prince.  She  immediately  suspects  the  plot, 
and  believes  the  prince  to  have  been  the  real  author  of 
the  murder. 

Ors.  (clapping  her  hands).  Bravo  !  bravo  !  I  could  kiss  the 
devjl  who  has  tempted  him  to  commit  this  deed. 

Mar.    Whom  ?     Tempted  ?     To  what  deed  ? 

Ors.  Yes,  I  could  kiss  him,  even  if  you  were  that  devil  your- 
self, Marinelli !     Come,  look  me  straight  in  the  eye. 

Mar.    Well. 

Ors.    Do  you  not  know  what  I  think  ? 

Mar.    How  can  I  ? 

Ors.    Had  you  no  hand  in  it  ? 

Mar.    In  what  ? 

Ors.  Swear  !  No,  don't  swear ;  you  might  be  guilty  of  an- 
other sin.  Yes,  on  the  whole,  swear  away !  One  sin,  more  or 
less,  for  a  man  who  is  damned  at  any  rate,  —  what  signifies  it  ? 
Had  you  no  hand  in  it  ? 

Mar.   You  frighten  me.  Countess. 

Ors.  Eeally  ?  Does  your  good  heart  suspect  nothing  ?  Well, 
then,  I  will  tell  you  something  that  shall  make  every  hair  on 
your  head  stand  up.  Come  here  !  \^She  advances  her  mouth  to 
his  ear  as  if  to  whisper,  but  screams  at  the  top  of  her  voice.'] 
The  Prince  is  a  murderer ! 

Mar.    Countess,  are  you  out  of  your  senses  ? 

Ors.  Out  of  my  senses  ?  {Laughing  aloud.)  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
I  have  seldom  or  never  been  so  well  satisfied  with  my  senses 
as  now.  Depend  upon  it,  Marinelli ;  but  it  is  between  us  two. 
(  Whispers.)  The  Prince  is  a  murderer,  —  the  murderer  of 
Count  Appiani !  ,  He  was  not  slain  by  robbers,  but  by  tools  of 
the  Prince,  —  by  the  Prince.  .  .  . 

Mar.    Countess,  it  might  cost  you  your  head  — 

Ors.  If  I  should  say  that  to  others.  So  much  the  better ! 
so  much   the   better!     To-morrow  I  will    proclaim  it  in  the 


LESSING.  165 

market-place.      And    whoever    contradicts    me,   he   was    the 
Prince's  accomplice.     Good-by ! 

"  Nathan  the  Wise  "  is  neither  comedy  nor  tragedy  in 
the  common  acceptation,  but  a  grand  dramatic  picture, 
in  which  the  interest  resides  not  so  much  in  the  plot  or 
the  action,  as  in  the  self -portrayal  of  the  characters  and 
the  truth  of  the  sentiment,  —  or  rather  the  value  of  the 
truth  they  are  made  to  illustrate.  The  motive  is  reli- 
gious tolerance ;  and  in  no  other  poem,  in  all  the  range  of 
literature,  has  the  virtue  of  tolerance  found  such  adequate 
expression,  such  apt  vindication.  On  the  whole,  though 
ill-adapted  to  the  stage,  though  wanting  in  theatrical 
effect,  and  without  the  qualities  which  secure  a  wide 
popularity,  —  such  popularity  as  the  author  obtained  for 
his  "Emilia  Galotti,"  —  "Nathan  the  Wise"  must  be 
regarded  as  Lessing's  greatest  work,  as  it  was  his  last ; 
greatest,  I  mean,  of  his  original  creations.  It  is  the  one 
which  best  represents  the  author's  innermost  self,  a  spirit 
above  all  parties  and  sects  and  ecclesiastical  limitations ; 
believer  in  the  one  universal  religion,  —  the  religion  of 
love  for  God  and  man ;  too  wise  and  broad  to  be  the 
votary  of  any  exclusive  creed.  It  is,  next  to  "  Faust," 
the  most  truly  German,  the  most  thoroughly  national 
work.  Moreover,  it  is  the  only  one  of  Lessing's  plays 
in  which  he  has  adopted  the  metrical  form.  But  so 
slight  is  his  perception  of  rhythmical  beauty  that  noth- 
ing is  gained  by  his  rugged  verses.  The  scene  of  this 
drama  is  laid  in  Jerusalem ;  the  time  is  the  third  cru- 
sade, —  or  rather  the  truce  between  Christian  and  Mus- 
sulman which  succeeds  that  crusade.  The  principal 
characters  are  Saladin,  renowned  in  the  history  of  that 
age  ;  Nathan,  a  wealthy  Jewish  merchant ;  a  Knight 
Templar,  and  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem.     These  rep- 


166  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

resent  the  three  monotheistic  religions  which,  previous 
to  our  knowledge  of  India,  were  supposed  to  be  the  great 
religions  of  the  world,  —  Judaism,  Christianity,  and  Ma- 
hometanism.  The  intent  is  to  show  that  names  and 
forms  and  confessions  are  of  no  importance,  compared 
with  those  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  those  moral  graces, 
which  constitute  the  sole  criterion  of  a  true  religion. 
In  accordance  with  this  design,  the  Christian  ecclesi- 
astic is  represented,  as  in  that  age  he  was  likely  to  be, 
the  least  Christian  of  the  three,  —  bigoted,  ambitious, 
relentless,  cruel.  The  Mahometan  sovereign  is  a  man 
of  large  and  liberal  views ;  and  the  despised  Jew,  com- 
passionate, tolerant,  humane,  —  the  real  Christian,  as 
the  lay-brother,  when  he  hears  the  story  of  his  wrongs 
and  good  deeds,  confesses  :  "  Nathan,  you  are  a  Chris- 
tian ;  a  better  Christian  never  was."  A  party  of  Chris- 
tian fanatics  had  massacred  his  wife  and  seven  sons ; 
but  he  had,  nevertheless,  adopted  a  Christian  orphan, 
thrown  upon  his  mercy,  and  brought  her  up  as  his  own 
child.  The  bigoted  patriarch,  hearing  of  this,  would 
have  him  burned  at  the  stake,  because  the  girl  had  not 
been  reared  in  the  Christian  faith.  At  the  close  of  the 
piece  her  parentage  comes  to  light ;  her  mother  was  a 
Christian,  but  her  father  was  Saladin's  brother,  and  her 
lover,  the  Templar,  turns  out  to  be  her  own  brother. 

A  story  from  Boccaccio,  which  suggested  the  drama, 
is  inwoven  in  the  course  of  the  action.  The  Sultan, 
thinking  to  entrap  Nathan,  demands  of  him  which  of 
the  three  religions  —  the  Jewish,  the  Mahometan,  or 
the  Christian — he  regards  as  the  true  one.  Nathan, 
divining  his  purpose,  begs  time  for  consideration.  Hav- 
ing debated  the  matter  with  himself,  he  answers  Sala- 
din's  question  with  the  story  of  the  three  rings. 


LESSING.  167 

Nathan.  An  eastern  monarch,  in  ancient  time,  possessed  a 
ring  of  inestimable  value,  wliich  had  the  property  of  making 
the  wearer,  who  wore  it  with  that  faith,  beloved  of  God  and 
man.  This  ring  he  bequeathed  to  his  favorite  son,  with  the 
provision  that  he  should  leave  it  again  to  his  favorite  ;  and  that 
thus  it  should  descend  from  sire  to  son,  and  that  in  each  gener- 
ation the  son  who  inherited  the  ring  should  be  the  prince  of  the 
house.  Agreeably  to  this  provision,  the  ring  came  at  last  into 
the  hands  of  a  father  of  three  sons,  of  whom  each  was  equally 
dear  to  him ;  and  to  each  of  whom,  separately,  unknown  to  the 
other  two,  he  had  weakly  promised  the  ring  and  the  succession. 
That  he  might  not  seem  to  either  of  the  sons  false  to  his  prom- 
ise, he  had  employed  a  skilful  jeweller  to  make  two  fac-similes 
of  the  hereditary  ring ;  and  so  perfect  was  the  workmanship 
that  these  spurious  rings  were  not  distinguishable,  even  by  the 
father  himself,  from  the  true  one.  On  his  death-bed  he  sum- 
mons privately  each  of  his  sons,  one  after  the  other,  and  delivers 
to  him  one  of  the  rings,  as  if  it  were  the  true  one  and  carried  the 
succession.  Scarcely  was  the  father  dead  when  each  of  the  sons 
comes  forward  with  his  ring,  and  each  claims  to  be  chief  of  the 
house.  Investigations  are  made  :  they  quarrel,  they  prosecute, 
in  vain  ;  the  true  ring  is  undemonstrable  {after  a  pause,  in 
which  he  awaits  the  Sultan's  answer),  —  almost  as  undemon- 
strable as  for  us  at  present  the  true  faith. 

Saladin.  How?  Is  that  to  be  the  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion? 

Nathan.  It  is  only  to  excuse  me  if  I  cannot  trust  myself  to 
distinguish  the  rings  which  the  father  made  with  the  design 
that  they  should  not  be  distinguished. 

Saladin.  The  rings!  I  should  think  that  the  religions  I 
have  named  to  you  are  very  distinguishable,  even  in  respect  to 
dress,  —  even  in  the  matter  of  meat  and  drink. 

Nathan.  Only  not  in  respect  of  their  grounds.  For  do  they 
not  all  ground  themselves  on  history,  written  or  oral  ?  And 
history  must  be  received  on  trust,  must  it  not  ?  Well,  then, 
whose  truth  are  we  least  disposed  to  call  in  question  ?  Surely, 
the  truth  of  those  whose  blood  we  share,  who  from  our  child- 


168  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

hood  have  given  us  proofs  of  their  love,  —  who  have  never 
deceived  us  except  for  our  good. 

Saladin  {aside).  By  the  Living !  the  man  is  right.  I  am 
silenced. 

Nathan.  Let  us  return  to  our  rings.  As  I  said,  the  sons 
prosecuted.  Each  swore  to  the  judge  that  he  had  received  the 
ring  directly  from  the  hand  of  his  father.  .  .  .  Each  assevered 
that  his  father  could  not  have  been  false.  Rather  than  suspect 
that  of  such  a  dear  father,  he  must  accuse  his  brothers  of 
treachery,  although  he  was  disposed  to  believe  all  that  is  best 
of  them ;  and  he  would  find  means  to  convict  the  traitors  and 
to  be  revenged  on  them. 

Saladin.  Well  —  and  the  judge  ?  I  am  anxious  to  hear 
what  you  will  make  the  judge  say.     Speak ! 

Nathan.  The  judge  said,  "  If  you  do  not  quickly  summon 
your  father,  I  shall  dismiss  you  from  my  tribunal.  Do  you 
think  I  am  here  to  solve  riddles  ?  Or  do  you  wait  for  the  true 
ring  to  open  its  mouth  ?  But,  hold !  I  hear  that  the  true  ring 
possesses  the  magic  power  to  make  one  beloved  of  God  and 
man.  That  must  decide.  .  .  .  My  advice  to  you  is  that  you 
take  the  matter  exactly  as  it  lies.  If  each  of  you  has  received 
his  ring  from  his  father,  let  each  believe  his  ring  to  be  the  true 
one.  It  is  possible  that  the  father  meant  to  suffer  no  longer 
the  tyranny  of  the  one  ring  in  his  house.  Certain  it  is  that  he 
loved  all  three  of  you,  and  loved  you  equally,  since  he  would 
not  oppress  two  in  order  to  favor  one.  Well,  then,  let  each  of 
you,  for  his  own  part,  be  zealous  of  an  unbribed,  free,  unpreju- 
diced love.  Let  each  compete  with  the  others  in  demonstrating 
the  virtue  of  the  stone  in  his  own  ring,  and  illustrate  that  virtue 
with  gentleness,  with  hearty  concord,  with  beneficence,  with 
fervent  devotion  to  his  will.  And  then,  if  the  virtues  of  these 
stones  shall  manifest  themselves  in  your  children's  children's 
children,  I  will  summon  you  again  a  thousand  times 'thousand 
years  hence  before  this  tribunal.  Then  a  wiser  than  I  will  sit 
on  this  judgment-seat  and  pronounce  sentence.  Go ! "  So 
spake  the  modest  judge.  .  .  .  Saladin,  if  you  feel  yourself  to 
be  this  promised  wiser  man  — 


LESSING,  169 

Saladin  {rushing  towards  him  and  seizing  his  hand,  which 
he  holds  to  the  end  of  the  scene).  I,  who  am  dust !  I,  who  am 
nothing !  Nathan,  dear  Nathan,  the  thousand  times  thousand 
years  of  your  judge  have  not  yet  expired.  His  tribunal  is  not 
mine.     Go  !  go  !    but  be  my  friend. 

Lessing  did  not  live  to  see  the  crowning  work  of  his 
genius  brought  upon  the  stage.  It  was  not  until  two 
years  after  his  death  that  the  first  representation  was 
hazarded  in  Berlin,  and  then  with  small  success  on  ac- 
count of  the  incompetence  of  the  actors.  Twenty  years 
later  it  was  brought  forward  under  better  auspices  b\^ 
Goethe  and  Schiller  in  Weimar,  and  by  Iffland  in  Ber- 
lin. Since  then,  though  apparently  ill  adapted  as  I  have 
said  for  scenic  representation,  it  has  been  performed  on 
nearly  every  stage  in  Germany.     Says  Stahr :  — 

'•  In  our  days,  the  almost  incredible  event  has  happened  that 
Lessing's  '  Nathan,'  in  a  Greek  translation,  with  the  title  of 
*  The  Wise  Old  Jew,'  has  been  brought  by  Greek  actors  on  the 
stage  at  Constantinople. i  At  the  first  representation  but  few 
Turks  were  present,  mostly  police  officers.  When  the  piece 
was  repeated  on  the  following  day,  the  Turkish  public  pre- 
ponderated. Their  attention  and  interest  were  extraordinary. 
Many  times  they  seemed  disposed  to  receive  Nathan's  frankness 
before  the  throne  of  Saladin  with  less  magnanimity  than  did 
the  Sultan  himself.  But  the  story  of  the  three  rings  was  re- 
ceived with  unexampled  enthusiasm;  and  at  its  close  there 
broke  forth  a  round  of  applause  in  which  the  most  reserved 
'  lights  of  the  harem  joined  with  eager  satisfaction.' " 


"  Nathan  the  Wise "  was  the  last  work  of  Lessing 
which  can  be  considered  as  belonging  to  the  department 
of  general  literature.     His  "Education  of  the  Human 

^  The  translator  was  Kaliourchos,  a  Greek,  who  had  studied  in 
Germany. 


170  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Race,"  which  succeeded  it,  —  a  treatise  whose  influence 
on  the  progress  of  enlightened  thought  it  is  impossible 
to  overestimate,  —  closes  his  literary  labors.  It  was 
his  last  testament  to  his  nation,  and  contains,  in  a  few 
pages,  the  substance  of  his  philosophy  of  religion.  The 
closing  words  have  a  special  significance,  as  indicating 
the  future  contemplated  by  the  wTiter,  whose  end  was 
at  hand  :  — 

"  Why  should  I  not  come  again  as  often  as  I  am  fitted  to 
acquire  new  knowledge  and  new  faculties  ?  Do  I  carry  away  so 
much  that  it  would  not  be  worth  the  while  to  come  again  ?  Or 
because  I  forget  that  I  have  been  here  before  ?  'T  is  well  that 
I  do  forget ;  the  memory  of  former  lives  would  impede  the  best 
use  of  the  present.  And  what  I  must  forget  now,  is  it  forgotten 
forever  ?  Or  because  I  shall  have  lost  too  much  time  ?  Lost  ? 
What  have  I  to  neglect  ?     Is  not  all  eternity  mine  ?  " 


MENDELSSOHN.  171 


CHAPTER    XI. 

MENDELSSOHN. 

CLOSELY  connected  with  the  name  of  Lessing,  in  the 
literary  annals  of  his  day,  was  that  of  his  friend 
and  co-worker  Mendelssohn,  —  a  name  more  familiar 
to  us  in  its  musical  than  in  its  literary  sense. 

Moses  Mendelssohn,  grandfather  of  Felix  the  great 
composer,  was  born  in  Dessau  in  1729.  Lessing's  junior 
by  only  eight  months ;  a  philosopher  in  the  truest,  the 
original,  etymological  sense  of  the  word,  a  veritable 
lover  of  wisdom, —  in  any  country  but  Germany  he  would 
be  counted  great  in  that  line.  But  because  he  gave  only 
the  results  of  his  speculations,  and  gave  them  in  a  clear, 
intelligible,  popular  form  without  technical  gibberish  ; 
and  also,  it  must  be  confessed,  because  he  did  not  dis- 
cuss the  deeper,  insoluble  problems  of  the  mind,  —  he 
does  not  rank  with  metaphysicians  of  the  first  class,  the 
great,  transcendental  lords  whom  we  all  glorify,  whom 
a  few  read,  whom  some  understand,  or  think  they  do, 
which  answers  the  same  purpose.  He  gives  us  the  fin- 
ished product  without  the  machinery  which  Goethe  satir- 
izes through  the  mouth  of  Mephistophiles  :  — 

"  Then  the  philosopher  steps  in 
And  shows  that  it  could  not  have  otherwise  been ; 
The  first  was  so,  the  second  so,  — 
Therefore  the  third  and  fourth  are  so. 
Were  not  the  first  and  second,  then 
The  third  and  fourth  could  never  have  been." 


172  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Mendelssohn,  in  short,  was  a  metaphysician  without 
the  jargon  of  the  schools.  He  obtained  from  the  Berlin 
Academy  the  first  prize  (Kant  being  his  competitor)  for 
his  essay  on  the  Nature  of  Evidence  in  Metaphysical 
Science.  Kant's  essay,  Hettner  thinks,  was  by  far  the 
deeper  of  the  two,  but  the  judges  could  not  understand  it, 
—  which  is  very  likely.  The  Academy  were  so  pleased 
with  Mendelssohn's  essay  that  they  wanted  to  make  him 
a  member  ;  but  Frederick  the  Great,  to  whose  approval 
the  candidates  for  that  honor  must  be  submitted,  would 
have  no  Jew  in  his  Academy.  We  may  be  sure  that 
Frederick  was  actuated  by  no  religious  scruples  in  this 
matter ;  he  had  quite  other  reasons  of  his  own  for  his 
hostility  to  the  Jews. 

Mendelssohn  was  a  Jew,  —  a  German  by  country,  but 
not  a  German  by  nation.  German  proper,  as  spoken  by 
Christian  Germans,  was  not  his  native  tongue.  He 
might  have  picked  up  something  of  it  through  the  ear, 
but  to  read  it  and  to  write  it  he  had  to  learn  it  as  a 
foreign  language,  —  and  to  learn  it  by  stealth.  For  so 
obstinate  was  the  bigotry  of  the  stricter  Jews  of  his  day, 
so  inveterate  their  hatred  of  their  Christian  persecutors, 
that  as  late  as  1746  the  synagogue  at  Berlin  expelled  a 
Jew  boy  from  the  city  for  being  detected  in  carrying  a 
German  book  through  the  streets  on  one  of  his  errands. 

Mendelssohn's  father,  Mendel,  was  a  scribe  of  the 
synagogue,  whose  business  it  was  to  make  copies  of  the 
Thora,  or  Law,  and  to  teach  Jewish  children  their  reli- 
gion. The  boy  was  precocious,  and  developed  extraor- 
dinary mental  capacity,  which  so  stimulated  the  father's 
ambition  that  not  content  with  the  progress  his  child 
was  already  making  he  urged  him  on,  to  the  permanent 
detriment  of  his  physical  well-being.     His  growth  was 


MENDELSSOHN,  173 

stunted,  and  a  spinal  disease,  caused  by  the  overworking 
of  his  brain,  deformed  him  for  life. 

Nothing  in  the  history  of  literary  men  is  more  inter- 
esting and  more  instructive  than  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge under  difficulties,  —  the  struggle  with  poverty  and 
social  disadvantage,  from  which  great  scholars  have 
issued  victorious  and  won  for  themselves  enduring  fame. 
At  the  age  of  fourteen  this  Jew-boy,  a  puny,  diminutive 
hunchback,  impelled  by  thirst  for  knowledge,  found  his 
way  to  Berlin,  where  his  teacher,  Frankel,  having  been 
called  to  the  office  of  chief  Rabbi  of  the  synagogue  in 
that  city,  had  preceded  him.  For  several  years  his  only 
means  of  support  was  a  small  pittance  which  he  received 
as  a  copyist  in  the  service  of  Frankel.  A  small  room  in 
a  garret  he  occupied  free  of  cost ;  he  subsisted  for  the 
most  part  on  dry  bread,  and  has  left  it  on  record  that 
he  marked  with  lines  on  his  loaf  the  portion  to  be  con- 
sumed each  day,  so  as  not  to  trench  on  the  day  following. 
All  this  time  he  continued  his  studies,  and  had  the  cour- 
age —  it  required  a  good  deal  —  to  break  through  the 
restraints  imposed  by  the  Jewish  authorities,  and  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  Christian  literature.  Un- 
assisted, with  great  difficulty,  he  learned  Latin.  A  con- 
trolling love  of  philosophy  led  him  to  study  a  Latin 
translation  of  Locke's  "  Essay  on  the  Understanding," 
laboriously  looking  out  the  words  in  a  dictionary  until 
he  had  mastered  a  sentence,  and  then  pausing  to  con- 
sider its  import.  He  then  went  to  work  upon  Cicero, 
and  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  ancient  schools  of 
philosophy, — the  Academy,  the  Stoics,  and  Epicureans. 
And  now  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  fellow  Jew,  Aaron  Gumperz,  with  whose  assist- 
ance he  mastered  French  and  English,  and  enlarged  his 


174  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

intercourse  with  modern  philosophy.  Material  advan- 
tage, as  well  as  moral,  resulted  from  this  acquaintance. 
It  introduced  him  to  the  knowledge  of  a  rich  silk  manu- 
facturer, Bernhard,  who  received  him  into  his  family  as 
private  tutor  to  his  children,  and  afterward  made  him 
his  book-keeper  and  foreign  correspondent.  Mendelssohn 
finally  became  a  partner  in  the  business.  There  was  an 
end  of  all  pecuniary  trouble. 

In  1754  there  befell  him  a  stroke  of  good  fortune, 
scarcely  less  important  than  the  patronage  of  Bernhard. 
He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Lessing.  They  were  both 
of  the  same  age ;  they  met,  and  soon  formed  an  attach- 
ment which  lasted  for  life.  The  acquaintance  had  its 
origin  in  Lessing's  passion  for  the  game  of  chess.  Read- 
ers of  "  Nathan  the  Wise  "  —  whose  hero,  by  the  way, 
was  suggested  by  Mendelssohn  —  will  remember  the 
prominence  given  to  chess  in  that  drama.  Lessing,  then 
resident  in  Berlin,  was  wont  to  seek  relief  from  his  lite- 
rary labors  in  that  most  intellectual  of  all  games ;  and 
Gumperz,  the  friend  of  both,  recommended  Mendels- 
sohn as  a  match  for  him.  From  adversaries  in  sport, 
they  became  friends  in  earnest.  The  benefit  which  the 
Jew,  athirst  for  knowledge,  derived  from  intercourse 
with  the  thoroughly  educated  scholar,  the  most  cultured 
man  of  his  time,  was  immense.  He  was  put  upon  the 
right  track  ;  to  passionate  endeavor  was  added  method 
and  direction.  Lessing,  on  his  part,  discerned  in  Men- 
delssohn all  the  promise  of  his  future  career,  and  wrote 
to  Michaelis,  at  Gottingen,  concerning  him,  — 

"  He  is  actually  a  Jew ;  a  man  of  some  twenty  odd  years, 
who,  without  any  instruction,  has  made  great  attainments  in 
languages,  in  mathematics,  in  philosophy,  and  poetry.  I  fore- 
see that  he  may  become  the  glory  of  his  people,  if  his  co- 


MENDELSSOHN.  175 

religionists,  whom,  unhappily,  a  persecuting  spirit  has  always 
impelled  to  make  war  on  such  characters,  will  suffer  him  to 
ripen.  His  honesty  and  his  philosophical  turn  of  mind  fore- 
shadow a  second  Spinoza  without  the  errors  of  the  first." 

In  the  same  year,  through  Lessing's  mediation,  Men- 
delssohn was  introduced  to  Nicolai,  who  writes  :  "  I  soon 
became  better  acquainted  with  this  (in  the  highest  sense 
of  the  word)  noble  and  excellent  man ;  in  a  few  months 
we  were  intimate  friends."  Nicolai  diverted  his  atten- 
tion somewhat  from  metaphysical  studies,  and  directed 
it  to  polite  literature.  "  I  am  becoming  something  of  a 
hel  esprit ^^^  he  wrote  to  Lessing,  then  absent  from  Berlin. 
"  Who  knows  but  I  may  soon  write  verses  ?  Madame 
Metaphysic  must  pardon  me ;  she  maintains  that  friend- 
ship must  be  founded  in  similarity  of  tastes.  I  find,  on 
the  other  hand,  that  similarity  of  tastes  may  result  from 
friendship."  In  1755  Lessing  gave  Mendelssohn  Shaftes- 
bury's "  Characteristics  "  to  read,  and  asked  him  what 
he  thought  of  it.  "  It  is  well  enough,"  said  Mendel- 
ssohn ;  "  but  that  is  a  kind  of  thing  I  can  do  also." 
"  Can  you,  indeed  ?  "  replied  Lessing ;  "  w^hy  don't  you 
doit?"  Some  time  after  Mendelssohn  brought  him  a 
manuscript,  which  he  begged  him  to  read.  "  When  I 
have  leisure,"  said  Lessing,  "  I  will  look  it  over."  In 
several  subsequent  visits  he  waited  for  Lessing  to  give 
him  his  judgment  upon  it ;  but  Lessing  discoursed  of 
other  things,  and  Mendelssohn  was  too  modest  to  broach 
the  subject.  At  last,  however,  he  plucked  up  courage, 
and  inquired  after  the  manuscript.  "  Oh,  your  manu- 
script !  Yes,  really,  you  must  excuse  me  ;  I  will  attend 
to  it  shortly.  Meanwhile,  take  this  little  volume,  ex- 
amine it  at  your  leisure,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  it." 
Mendelssohn  opened  the  volume,  which  bore  the  title, 


176  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

"  Philosophical  Conversations,"  and  found,  to  his  sur- 
prise, that  it  was  his  own  work,  which  Lessing  had  got 
published  without  his  knowledge.  "  Take  it,"  said  Les- 
sing, "  put  it  into  your  pocket,  and  this  Mammon  along 
with  it,"  —  handing  him  the  money  for  the  copyright ; 
"  it  may  be  of  use  to  you."  Thus  Mendelssohn  —  un- 
awares and  prematurely,  as  to  his  own  intent  —  came 
before  the  public  as  an  author.  But  now,  the  ice  once 
broken,  the  author's  career  once  initiated,  there  fol- 
lowed in  rapid  succession  several  publications  of  greater 
or  less  value,  —  and  in  1767  his  great  work,  "  Phaedon  ; 
or  Concerning  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul,"  prefaced 
by  an  essay  on  the  life  and  character  of  Socrates.  In 
1768  there  followed  a  second  edition,  and  in  1769  a 
third.  The  work  was  translated  into  most  of  the  lan- 
guages of  Europe.     His  biographer  ^  says :  — 

*'  The  subject,  the  manner  of  treatment,  and  especially  the 
elegance  of  the  style  excited  universal  attention.  The  learned 
world,  up  to  that  time,  had  known  but  three  Jews  who  had 
written  in  any  other  language  than  the  Hebrew,  —  Maimonides, 
Spinoza,  and  Orobio,  a  Jewish  physician  (1687).  That  a  Jew, 
then  living,  could  write  philosophical  works  in  German,  and 
that  in  a  style  which  in  perspicuity  and  elegance  excelled 
everything  that  Germany  had  yet  produced,  was  an  entirely 
new  phenomenon.  Thenceforth  the  circle  of  Mendelssohn's 
admirers  was  greatly  extended.  The  scholars  of  the  capital 
sought  him  out ;  and  no  traveller,  who  made  any  pretensions 
to  culture,  visited  Berlin  without  endeavoring  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  him." 

The  work  was  to  have  been  dedicated  to  his  friend 
Abbt,  whose  conversations  had  suggested  it.  But  Abbt 
died  June,  1767,  while  the  sheets  were  going  through 

1  Dr.  G.  B.  Mendelssohn. 


MENDELSSOHN.  177 

the  press,  and  the  Preface  contains  a  touching  tribute 
to  the  departed,  in  which  the  author  has  reared  a  fit 
monument  to  his  memory.  Mendelssohn  planned  his 
work  on  the  basis  of  the  "  Phaedon  "  of  Plato,  and  took 
Plato  for  his  model  in  his  treatment  of  the  subject.  He 
calls  it  a  cross  between  a  translation  and  an  original 
essay.  In  addition  to  Plato,  he  avails  himself  of  the 
thoughts  of  the  more  important  among  the  philosophers 
who  have  handled  the  same  question  in  subsequent  time, 
especially  Plotinus,  Descartes,  Leibnitz,  and  Wolff.  He 
says :  — 

"  My  object  is  not  to  exhibit  the  grounds  which  the  Greek 
sage  may  have  had  in  his  day  for  belief  in  immortality,  but 
those  which  in  our  age,  after  the  efforts  of  so  many  great  minds 
devoted  to  the  subject,  would  satisfy  a  man  like  Socrates,  who 
must  have  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  him.  I  run  the  risk 
of  making  my  Socrates  a  disciple  of  Leibnitz  ;  but  no  matter,  I 
must  have  a  heathen  in  order  not  to  be  obliged  to  enter  on  the 
question  of  revelation." 

In  accordance  with  this  design,  the  narrative  portion 
of  Plato's  "  Phaedon  "  —  the  character  of  Socrates,  as 
it  there  appears,  constituting  the  immortal  charm  of  the 
book  —  is  faithfully  preserved,  while  the  reasonings 
which  Plato  puts  into  his  mouth  (so  unsatisfactory, 
most  of  them,  to  modern  thought)  are  replaced  by  ar- 
guments based  on  modern  views,  and  appreciable  by  the 
modern  understanding.  In  the  Greek  ''  Phaedon  "  Soc- 
rates, having  given  his  proofs,  or  his  reasons  for  believ- 
ing in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  launches  forth  into 
wild  speculations  concerning  the  future  abode  and  des- 
tination of  the  soul,  which  add  nothing  to  the  value  of 
the  work,  and  serve  only  to  betray  the  ignorance  of  the 
ancients  concerning  the  physical  structure  of  the  globe. 

12 


178  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

All  this  Mendelssohn  omits,  and  substitutes  instead  a 
confession  on  the  part  of  Socrates  of  his  inability  to 
throw  any  light  on  the  question  of  the  future  where- 
abouts :  — 

"  Whether  the  souls  of  the  godless  are  to  endure  cold  or  heat, 
hunger  or  thirst ;  whether  they  will  wallow  in  the  Acherusian 
bog ;  whether  they  will  pass  the  time  of  their  purgation  in  the 
gloom  of  Tartarus  or  the  flames  of  Pyriphlegethon ;  whether 
the  blessed  will  inhale  the  pure  air  of  heaven  and  bask  in  the 
splendor  of  dawn  in  a  world  glittering  with  gold  and  jewels,  or 
feed  on  nectar  and  ambrosia  bosomed  in  eternal  youth,  —  of  all 
that,  my  friend,  I  know  nothing.  If  our  poets  and  allegorists 
know,  let  them  give  assurance  thereof  to  others.  ...  As  for 
me,  I  content  myself  with  the  conviction  that  I  shall  enjoy  for- 
ever the  Divine  protection  ;  that  in  the  life  to  come,  as  in 
this,  a  holy  and  just  Providence  will  rule  over  me,  and  that  my 
true  happiness  will  consist  in  the  beauty  and  perfection  of  my 
mind,  —  temperance,  justice,  liberty,  love,  knowledge  of  God, 
co-operation  with  his  purposes,  and  devotion  to  his  will.  These 
blessings  await  me  in  the  future  to  which  I  hasten ;  more  I 
need  not  to  know  in  order  to  enter  with  courageous  trust  the 
way  which  shall  lead  me  thither." 

By  the  publication  of  the  "  Phaedon "  Mendelssohn 
became  suddenly  famous,  and  remained  for  a  time  the 
most  conspicuous  luminary  in  the  literary  firmament  of 
his  country.  This  will  not  seem  strange,  if  we  consider 
that  native  popular  literature  in  Germany  was  then  in 
its  infancy.  Lessing  had  not  yet  published  his  more 
important  works.  Klopstock,  after  the  publication  of 
the  first  three  cantos  of  the  "  Messiah,"  had  gone  silent 
for  a  time.  The  splendid  constellation  of  the  Weimar 
epoch  had  not  yet  risen.  Kant's  great  work  had  not  yet 
stirred  to  its  depths  and  fundamentally  regenerated  the 
German  mind.     Mendelssohn  was  the  hero  of  the  hour, 


MENDELSSOHN.  179 

the  cynosure  of  the  waiting  minds  of  his  time.  If  not 
profound,  as  judged  by  a  later  standard,  he  was  yet 
sufficiently  so  to  satisfy  the  thinkers,  —  Kant  himself 
acknowledging  his  merit  in  that  kind  ;  at  the  same  time, 
he  was  sufficiently  vernacular  and  intelligible  to  please 
the  less  laborious,  average  reader,  and  to  give  him  the 
comfortable  feeling  that  he  too  could  read  philosophy 
and  understand  it. 

Next  in  importance  to  the  "Phaedon"  —  a  companion- 
piece  to  that,  discussing  the  proofs  of  Deity,  as  the 
"  Phaedon  "  discusses  those  of  immortality  —  is  the 
Morgenstunden,  —  "  Morning  Hours,"  so-called,  because 
it  embodies  the  substance  of  lessons  in  theology  given 
in  the  morning,  before  taking  his  place  in  the  counting- 
room,  to  his  own  children  and  other  lads  associated 
with  them.  The  subject  for  him  was  not  merely  an  oc- 
casion of  intellectual  gymnastic, — a  gratification  sought 
in  the  exercise  of  his  reasoning  powers,  —  but  an  affair  of 
the  heart,  the  deepest  interest  of  his  life.    He  says :  — 

"  Without  the  conviction  of  this  truth  life  has  for  me  no  rel- 
ish, prosperity  no  joy.  Without  God,  Providence,  and  Immor- 
tality, .  .  .  life  below  seems  to  me  —  to  use  a  well-known  and 
oft  misused  figure  —  like  a  journey  in  wind  and  storm,  without 
the  comforting  prospect  of  finding  shelter  and  rest  in  some 
lodging  when  the  day  shall  end." 

His  success  in  proving  the  existence  of  God  is  neither 
greater  nor  less  than  that  of  most  others  who  have  at- 
tempted the  same  task  before  and  since.  That  is  not  a 
truth  to  be  established  by  demonstration,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  it  lies  nearer  and  deeper  than  all  the  facts 
and  considerations  that  may  be  adduced  in  its  support. 
The  author  builds  mainly  on  the  so-called  *•  ontological 


180  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

argument,"  by  which  the  existence  of  God  is  deduced 
from  the  idea  we  have  of  an  all-perfect  Being.  Exist- 
ence, it  is  claimed,  is  an  essential  element  in  that  idea. 
We  cannot  conceive  of  an  all-perfect  infinite  Being  ex- 
cept as  necessarily  existing ;  but  we  do  conceive  of  such 
a  Being,  therefore  he  must  exist.  Kant  has  exposed  the 
fallacy  of  this  reasoning,  by  which  it  is  attempted,  as  he 
says,  to  shell  a  fact  out  of  a  thought.  Whatever  force 
there  is  in  it  amounts  to  this, —  that,  since  the  effect  can- 
not be  greater  than  the  cause,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  our  idea  of  an  all-perfect  Being  must  come  from  such 
a  Being.  In  other  words,  the  idea  is  best  explained  as  an 
infinite  Being's  revelation  of  himself  in  the  finite  mind. 

The  publication  of  the  "  Morgenstunden  "  was  poste- 
rior by  ten  years  to  that  of  the  "  Phaedon."  Kant's 
"  Kritik  "  had  appeared  meanwhile,  but  the  revolution 
it  was  destined  to  work  in  philosophy  was  scarcely  an- 
ticipated. Mendelssohn  knew  it  only  by  report ;  and, 
indeed,  was  too  much  enfeebled  by  disease  at  that  time 
to  grapple  with  its  terrible  "  all-to-nothing-crushing " 
logic. 

Meanwhile  Mendelssohn  had  been  delivered  from  the 
pressure  of  poverty  and  want  which  weighed  so  heavily 
on  his  early  years.  He  had  become  a  partner  in  the 
firm  in  which  he  had  served  as  clerk ;  he  had  married  ; 
he  had  a  home ;  his  income,  if  not  very  ample,  was  yet 
sufficient  to  maintain  him  in  comfort,  and  to  enable  him 
to  entertain  the  numerous  friends  and  visitors  who 
sought  his  society.  Nothing  was  wanting  to  his  full 
enjoyment  of  life  but  bodily  health.  This  blessing 
through  life  was  denied  him.  His  infirmities  increased 
with  his  years.  The  weakness  of  his  digestive  organs 
necessitated  a  severe  asceticism  in  the  matter  of  food. 


MENDELSSOHN.  181 

No  encratite  of  old  could  be  more  abstemious ;  it  seemed 
impossible  that  a  man  in  active  life  should  subsist  on  so 
spare  a  diet.  Rising  through  the  year  at  the  hour  of 
five,  his  morning  hours  until  ten  were  given  to  literary 
labor.  In  the  evening  came  friends,  the  social  enter- 
tainment ending  with  a  supper,  at  which  the  viands  and 
wines  set  before  his  guests  were  untasted  by  himself. 
Instead  of  these,  a  glass  of  sweetened  water  was  the 
limit  of  his  indulgence. 

Among  Mendelssohn's  other  visitors,  Lavater  also, 
passing  through  Berlin,  paid  his  respects  to  the  author 
of  "  Phaedon."  Charmed,  as  were  all  who  knew  him, 
with  the  pure  and  noble  spirit  which  breathed  in  his 
conversation  as  well  as  his  works,  Lavater  could  not 
forgive  so  good  a  man  —  so  believing,  so  religious  —  for 
being  a  Jew.  Why  should  not  a  man  who  had  all  the 
moral  qualities  which  go  to  make  a  Christian  be  a  Chris- 
tian by  confession  ?  His  own  Christianity,  as  Goethe 
testifies,  was  apt  to  be  aggressive,  with  more  of  zeal 
than  of  tact.  With  the  best  intentions,  but  regardless 
of  what  might  be  supposed  to  be  Mendelssohn's  feelings 
in  such  a  matter,  he  dedicated  to  him  his  translation  of 
Bonnet's  "  Inquiry  into  the  Evidences  of  Christianity," 
with  an  open  letter  requesting  liim  to  examine  the  book  ; 
if  he  found  the  argument  faulty  to  refute  it,  exposing 
its  errors ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  found  it  satis- 
factory, to  do  what  policy,  as  well  as  love  of  truth  and 
honesty  required,  —  what  Socrates  would  have  done  in 
such  a  case,  —  meaning  that  he  should  forswear  Juda- 
ism and  be  baptized.  Mendelssohn's  son  and  biographer 
is  charitable  enough  to  say  that  Lavater  may  have  been 
actuated  by  real  kindness  in  this  appeal,  affording  the 
Jew  a  convenient  occasion  for  improving  his  civil  status 


182  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

by  becoming  a  Christian  citizen.  Whatever  the  intent, 
the  effect  on  Mendelssohn  was  very  disastrous.  It 
placed  him  in  the  awkward  dilemma,  either  to  exas- 
perate his  co-religionists  by  repudiating  the  faith  of  his 
fathers,  or  to  scandalize  orthodox  Christians  by  seeming 
to  despise  the  claims  of  the  Gospel.  The  challenge 
found  him  physically  disabled,  weak,  and  suffering  be- 
yond his  ordinary  state.  But  he  rallied  himself  to 
reply  in  such  a  manner  as  to  justify  his  loyalty  to 
Judaisin,  without  disrespect  to  the  Christian  faith.  He 
had  some  misgivings  in  view  of  the  censorship  of  the 
press,  without  whose  approval  no  book  or  pamphlet  in 
those  days  could  get  itself  published.  He  must  seem, 
of  course,  to  prefer  Judaism  to  Christianity,  and  thus 
inferentially  to  impugn  the  established  faith.  He  wrote 
to  the  Consistory,  sending  some  sheets  of  his  "  Eeply," 
and  offering  to  submit  the  whole  to  their  judgment.  He 
received  an  answer  which  attests  the  high  esteem  in 
which  he  was  held  by  Christian  authorities :  — 

"  Herr-  Moses  Mendelssohn  may  print  his  writings  without 
submitting  them  singly  or  collectively  to  the  Consistory  for 
their  judgment  upon  them,  inasmuch  as  his  known  wisdom  and 
modesty  are  a  pledge  that  he  will  write  nothing  which  can  give 
public  offence." 

The  affair  attracted  the  general  attention  of  the  read- 
ing world.  Mendelssohn  was  allowed  on  all  hands  to 
have  acquitted  himself  with  masterly  skill  in  the  deli- 
cate position  in  which  he  was  thus  thoughtlessly  placed, 
while  Lavater  was  universally  blamed,  —  and  indeed,  on 
reflection,  blamed  himself  for  the  indiscreet  zeal  with 
which  he  had  invaded  the  sanctity  of  the  inner  life. 

Scarcely  less  vexatious  than  the  original  invasion  were 


MENDELSSOHN.  183 

the  numerous  letters  with  which  Mendelssohn,  after  he 
had  published  his  "  Reply,"  was  pestered  by  pertina- 
cious disputants,  who  craved  explanations,  and  persisted 
in  controverting  this  point  and  that  in  his  statement 
of  the  grounds  of  his  retention  of  his  own  against  the 
solicitation  of  the  Christian  faith.  The  meek,  retiring 
scholar,  with  whom  it  was  a  principle  never  to  engage 
in  religious  discussions  with  disciples  of  other  creeds, 
found  himself  dragged  before  the  public,  and  entangled 
with  endless  controversies  on  the  one  subject  on  which 
of  all  others  he  desired  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself. 
These  annoyances,  combined  with  bodily  ails  of  long 
standing,  induced  an  attack  of  nervous  prostration 
which  long  interrupted  and  threatened  to  terminate 
forever  his  literary  career.  Intellectual  effort  of  every 
kind  was  strictly  forbidden  as  endangering  his  mental 
sanity,  if  not  his  life.  For  six  or  seven  years  he  desisted 
from  writing.  To  shut  out  thought,  he  would  sometimes 
employ  himself  in  counting  the  tiles  on  the  roofs  of  the 
opposite  houses.  He  avoided  his  study  on  the  upper 
floor;  but  happening  to  enter  it  one  day,  after  a  long 
interval,  he  found,  to  his  dismay,  that  his  practical 
housewife  had  utilized  table  and  shelves  for  purposes 
undreamed  of  in  his  philosophy.  Jars  and  gallipots 
mocked  him  from  every  available  space  ;  jellies  and 
jams  offered  other  nutriment  than  he  was  used  to  seek 
in  those  sacred  places.  He  shuddered  ;  "  So  it  will  look 
here,"  he  thought,  *'  after  I  am  dead.  Am  I  then  al- 
ready a  ghost  revisiting  my  old  haunts  ?  "  Sadder  sen- 
sations he  had  seldom  known  than  those  which  possessed 
him  as  he  descended  the  stairs  to  the  family  parlor. 

As  a  Jew  and  a  philanthropist,  Mendelssohn  was  in- 
terested in  the   moral   elevation  of  his  people,  whose 


184  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

mind  and  character  had  suffered  deep  debasement  from 
the  civil  degradation  to  which  Christian  oppression  had 
doomed  them.  To  this  end  he  wrote  in  Hebrew  for  the 
education  of  Hebrew  youth.  And  the  first  work  which 
he  pubHshed  after  his  recovery  from  years  of  illness 
was  a  German  translation  of  the  "  Pentateuch."  It  was 
printed  in  Hebrew  letters  for  the  sake  of  conciliating 
Jewish  bigotry,  which  condemned  the  use  of  German 
books.  One  object  at  which  he  aimed  in  this  publica- 
tion was  to  convert  his  kinsmen  in  the  faith  to  the  use 
of  pure  German  in  the  place  of  the  barbarous  compound 
of  the  two  languages  then  in  use,  —  a  jargon  which 
Mendelssohn  thought  as  demoralizing  as  it  was  disgust- 
ing :  it  served  to  enhance  and  perpetuate  the  antago- 
nism between  the  Jewish  and  the  Christian  citizen. 
The  project  encountered  fierce  opposition  on  the  part 
of  the  bigoted  Rabbis,  who  more  than  reciprocated  the 
aversion  of  the  Christian,  and  who  feared  the  weakening 
of  their  authority  from  closer  approximation  between 
the  two.  What  the  Hebrew  wanted  of  the  German  was 
his  money,  not  his  diction.  Mendelssohn's  version  was 
condemned,  and  the  ban  of  excommunication  decreed 
against  all  who  should  use  it.  But  the  wise  man's  labor 
was  not  lost,  though  he  lived  not  to  rejoice  in  its  fruits. 
Another  generation  adopted  his  counsel ;  his  translation 
was  studied,  and  continues  to  be  studied,  by  the  Jewish 
youth  of  Germany.  Their  language  improved,  and  their 
manners  in  the  same  proportion.  From  the  German  of 
the  Bible  they  advanced  to  familiar  converse  with  Ger- 
man literature  ;  they  took  on  intellectual  and  social  pol- 
ish ;  and  to  Mendelssohn's  word  and  work,  more  than 
to  any  other  cause,  it  is  due  that  the  German  Jew  has 
become  respectable  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-citizens. 


MENDELSSOHN,  185 

In  1783  he  published  his  translation  of  the  "Psalms ;" 
and  in  the  same  yeat  appeared  his  "  Jerusalem  ;  or,  Con- 
cerning Religious  Domination  and  Judaism," — one  of  his 
most  important  productions,  of  which  Kant  writes  :  — 

"  Herr  F.  will  tell  you  with  what  admiration  for  its  insight, 
its  fineness,  and  its  wisdom,  I  have  read  your  '  Jerusalem.'  I 
regard  the  book  as  the  harbinger  of  a  great  though  slowly  ap- 
proaching and  advancing  reformation,  which  will  affect  not  only 
your  nation  but  others.  You  have  known  how  to  give  your 
religion  a  degree  of  freedom  of  conscience  which  it  has  not  been 
supposed  capable  of,  and  which  no  other  can  boast." 

In  1785  appeared  the  "  Morgenstunden,"  of  which  I 
have  already  spoken,  and  which,  his  biographer  thinks, 
surpasses  in  clearness  and  elegance  of  style  all  his  pre- 
vious writings.  Soon  after  its  publication,  F.  H.  Jacobi 
came  out  with  his  treatise  on  the  doctrine  of  Spinoza,  in 
the  form  of  letters  addressed  to  Moses  Mendelssohn.  In 
this  work  he  maintains  that  Lessing,  who  had  died  some 
four  years  previous,  was  a  follower  of  Spinoza,  and  that 
his  views  of  religion  must  be  interpreted  in  conformity 
with  that  doctrine.  By  Mendelssohn,  the  uncompromis- 
ing theist,  this  allegation  was  received  as  a  slander  on 
his  departed  friend,  which  he  resented  with  all  the  in- 
dignation that  friendship  could  inspire.  The  accusation 
had  been  made  before,  and  Jacobi  and  Mendelssohn  had 
already  engaged  in  a  controversy  on  the  subject ;  but  this 
renewal  of  the  charge  aroused  in  the  latter  a  mental 
agitation  too  great  for  his  slender  and  enfeebled  body. 
In  fact,  it  was  the  death  of  him.  He  wrote  rapidly,  un- 
der great  excitement,  his  vindication  of  the  departed,  in 
the  form  of  "  Letters  to  the  Friends  of  Lessing ; "  and  on 
his  way  to  the  publisher  with  the  manuscript  of  this  his 


186  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

last  work  he  contracted  a  cold,  from  the  effects  of  which 
he  died  on  the  4th  of  January,  1786.  The  "Letters" 
appeared  as  a  posthumous  publication. 

Heine,  with  characteristic  cynicism,  says  of  this  work  : 

"  The  zeal  and  the  defence  were  as  laughable  as  they  were 
superfluous.  Rest  quiet  in  your  grave,  old  Moses  !  Your 
Lessing,  to  be  sure,  was  on  the  way  to  that  dreadful  error, 
that  pitiable  calamity,  —  Spinozism.  But  the  All-highest,  the 
Father  in  heaven,  rescued  him  at  the  right  moment  by  death. 
Be  quiet ;  your  Lessing  was  not  a  Spinozist,  as  slander  would 
have  it.  He  died  a  good  deist,  like  you  and  Nicolai  and  Tel- 
ler, and  the  Universal  German  Library." 

Mendelssohn's  genius  was  predominantly  critical.  His 
literary  sense  was  exceptionally  fine ;  and  his  artistic 
perceptions,  as  developed  in  the  essay  on  the  "  Sublime 
and  Naive,"  so  acute,  that  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
Lessing,  the  greatest  of  critics,  may  have  derived  some 
suggestions  from  his  Jewish  friend  in  return  for  the 
many  he  imparted  to  him.  Such  a  writer  cannot  be 
adequately  represented  by  extracts.  His  merit  consists 
rather  in  the  perfection  of  the  whole  than  in  the  bril- 
liancy of  parts,  —  rather  in  the  orderly  evolution  of  a 
theme  than  in  striking  quotable  sayings. 

The  following  specimen  is  taken  from  his  minor  philo- 
sophical writings,  and  was  suggested  by  Rousseau's  then 
recent  defence  of  the  so-called  "  State  of  Nature,"  —  an 
essay  which  obtained  the  prize  from  the  Academy  at 
Dijon,  in  France  :  — 

"  When  one  considers  what  a  multitude  of  learned  societies 
flourish  in  Europe  in  our  day,  and  how  they  are  all  at  work 
for  the  extension  and  diffusion  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  one 
can  hardly  doubt  that  this  century  is  the  most  enlightened  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world.     Almost  every  corner  of  France 


MENDELSSOHN.  187 

and  Germany  is  rescued  from  oblivion  by  little  learned  guilds, 
which  yearly  enrich  our  libraries  with  a  respectable  volume  of 
their  proceedings,  and  attach  considerable  pecuniary  gains  to 
the  discovery  of  certain  truths.  People  may  say  what  they 
will,  the  old  love  of  truth  was  quite  too  breadless.  What  suc- 
cess could  so  needy  a  gentlewoman  as  Truth  then  was  expect 
to  find  in  a  covetous  world  ?  In  our  day  they  hang  at  least  a 
few  gold-pieces  round  her  neck,  in  order  to  lure  lovers  from  all 
quarters  who  shall  court  her  favor  for  the  sake  of  her  coins. 

"  In  France  there  is  a  sufficient  number  of  such  little  guilds  ; 
and  for  several  years  past  that  of  Dijon  has  attracted  to  itself 
the  attention  of  scholars.  In  the  year  1750  it  offered  its  cus- 
tomary prize  for  an  answer  to  the  question  whether  the  arts 
and  sciences  have  been  conducive  to  moral  improvement  ?  .  .  . 
Now,  suppose  it  had  been  made  out  that  morals  have  not  im- 
proved, but  rather  deteriorated,  we  Germans  would  think  that 
we  ought  to  concern  ourselves  with  making  our  truths  more 
practical,  with  bringing  knowing  and  doing  into  closer  relation. 
But  how  much  better  a  certain  citizen  of  Geneva  has  inter- 
preted the  meaning  of  said  learned  society !  Rousseau  —  that  is 
the  name  of  this  learned  Genevan  —  has  found  out  that  the  real 
purpose  of  the  Academy  was  to  know  whether  it  is  better  to  be 
an  intelligent  man  or  a  fool ;  that  is,  whether  mankind  act 
rationally  in  striving  after  wisdom.  He  has  written  his  essay 
accordingly ;  and,  lo  !  he  has  secured  the  prize. 

"  In  answering  this  droll  question  our  Genevan  has  done 
wonders.  In  passionate  language  he  has  demonstrated,  to  the 
comfort  of  all  fools,  that  human  beings  engage  in  nothing  so 
base  as  when  they  labor  to  be  wise ;  and  that  every  one  who 
detects  this  propensity  in  himself  should  beat  his  head  until  he 
has  beaten  the  dangerous  illusion  out  of  it.  Assuredly,  the 
self-willed  Caliph  Omar,  who  commanded  his  people  to  heat  the 
public  baths  with  the  famous  library  of  Alexandria,  —  that  uni- 
versal treasury  of  arts  and  knowledges,  —  was,  in  comparison 
with  our  more  self-willed  Genevan  writer,  a  promoter  of  sci- 
ence. Omar  despised  only  the  wisdom  of  all  other  peoples, 
and  regarded  the  Koran  and  its  expositors  as  the  only  books 


188  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

which,  by  their  wisdom,  goodness,  and  piety,  can  make  men 
rational  and  blest.  But  seriously  to  maintain  that  human  kind 
would  be  happier  if  they  had  never  reflected,  or  if  they  could 
now  prevail  upon  themselves  to  annihilate  the  results  of  their 
reflections  and  investigations,  —  that  beats  the  Arab  ! 

"  Rousseau  had  at  heart  more  important  objects,  which  he 
was  not  willing  at  once  to  bring  forward.  It  needed  another 
question  proposed  by  the  same  Academy  to  fully  loose  his 
tongue.  That  question  was.  What  is  the  origin  of  inequality 
among  men,  and  is  it  founded  in  natural  laws  ?  .  .  .  This  was 
water  to  Rousseau's  mill.  He  understood  the  question  to  mean, 
whether  mankind  would  not  have  acted  more  in  conformity 
with  their  nature  if  they  had  continued  to  roam  the  forest,  and 
had  remained  as  like,  each  to  each,  as  one  monkey  is  like  an- 
other. Our  readers  will  easily  guess  how  a  Rousseau,  regard- 
ing as  he  does  art  and  science  as  the  most  direct  sources  of 
corruption,  would  answer  this  question.  In  fact,  he  has  not 
shunned  to  heap  upon  the  whole  human  race  the  most  unheard- 
of  reproaches.  He  maintains  that  all  civilized  nations  have 
become  corrupt  through  their  love  of  society ;  that  the  orang- 
outangs and  the  pongos — two  species  of  apes  —  are  worthier 
creatures  than  all  members  of  society,  and  that  the  prevailing 
desire  to  perfect  themselves  will  pursue  them  from  one  misfor- 
tune to  another  with  no  possible  help  for  their  misery. 

"  We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  method  by  which  he  endeavors 
to  support  his  singular  opinion.  Whoever  is  curious  may  learn 
it  from  the  lately-published  translation  of  his  treatise.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  time  to  place  before  our  readers  the  following 
communication  sent  us  by  our  Swiss  correspondent.  ... 

"  *  Gentlemen,  —  You  desire  to  know  how  the  essay  of  Herr 
Rousseau,  concerning  the  inequality  among  men,  has  been  received 
in  our  Republic. 

"  '  No  sooner  had  the  essay  been  given  to  the  public  than  we 
heard  in  all  the  coffee-houses,  in  all  assemblies,  and  even  not  sel- 


MENDELSSOHN.  189 

dom  in  the  council  chamber,  hot  disputes,  pro  and  con^  concerning 
social  life.  Some  even  went  further  than  Rousseau  himself.  Pen- 
etrated with  tender  compassion  for  our  misery,  they  are  far  from 
thinking  that  we  are  past  help.  They  held,  on  the  contrary,  that 
it  is  still  possible  to  restore  the  desired  original  state  of  man, 
and  to  change  this  valley  of  tears  to  a  blessed  paradise.  It  could 
be  done  by  abolishing  the  cursed  meum  and  tuum,  dissolving  social 
connections,  and  driving  men  back  into  the  wilderness  which,  to 
their  hurt,  they  have  forsaken.  "Look  around  you,"  they  were 
often  heard  to  say,  "beloved  fellow-citizens;  see  what  evil  and 
misery  those  hateful  names  —  Society,  Property,  Inequality  of 
Rank  —  have  wrought  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth.  High- 
waymen, parasites,  sycophants,  thieves,  misers,  insatiable  usurers, 
are  the  consequences  of  property.  Incest,  adultery,  jealousy,  lov- 
ers' despair  we  owe  to  the  institution  of  marriage  and  the  notions 
of  beauty  to  which  society  has  given  rise.  War,  slander,  slavery, 
contempt  would  cease  if  we  could  disband  society  and  restore 
equality  among  men.  We  will  put  an  end  to  this  nonsensical 
business.  I  beseech  you,  for  the  sake  of  humanity,  for  your  own 
happiness'  sake,  repent!  Let  your  hair  and  your  nails  grow  again; 
they  are  the  native  ornaments  of  the  natural  man.  Abandon  these 
proud  edifices,  these  almost  indestructible  monuments  of  the  folly 
of  your  ancestors  and  of  your  old  cherished  prejudices.  Gather 
sticks  and  fagots  from  the  nearest  thicket,  set  fire  to  them,  cast 
into  it  your  childish  household  goods,  your  health-destroying  ap- 
parel; let  the  smoke  ascend  to  the  clouds,  and  incite  all  the 
wretched  inhabitants  of  earth  to  imitate  you.  Then  around  this 
glorious  bonfire  we  will  frolic  awhile  like  the  savages  in  the  forests 
of  Dahomey ;  and  when  it  has  burned  down  we  will  bid  each  other 
a  tender  farewell,  and  never  see  each  other  again.  Each  shall  rove 
naked  and  alone  and  free  through  the  wide  expanse  of  Nature. 
When  he  is  tired,  he  shall  lie  down  by  the  side  of  some  brook  and 
sleep  undisturbed.  How  happy,  how  contented  and  peaceful  are 
the  apes,  the  orang-outangs,  and  the  pongos!  Ought  not  the  envi- 
able contentment  in  which  they  live  to  arouse  your  jealousy  ?  We 
too,  beloved  brethren,  —  we  too  might  satisfy  our  hunger  with 
acorns,  quench  our  thirst  with  water,  and  beneath  some  aged  oak 
enjoy  the  sweets  of  repose.  And  what  do  we  fools  want  more  than 
food  and  drink,  idling  and  sleep  ?  "  '  " 


190  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


CHAPTER    XIL 

THE   UNIVERSAL  GERMAN   LIBRARY.  —  FRIEDRICH  NICOLAI. 

A  N  important  function  in  modern  literature,  unknown 
■^^^  to  elder  time,  is  that  of  critical  journalism.  In 
Germany,  during  the  latter  third  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, this  function  was  exercised  with  praiseworthy  zeal, 
with  marked  ability,  and,  on  the  whole,  to  good  purpose, 
by  the  "  Allgemeine  deutsche  Bibliothek "  (Universal 
German  Library),  the  earliest  critical  journal  of  wide 
and  commanding  influence  in  Germany ;  not  the  first  in 
chronological  order,  but  the  first  which  had  the  ear  of 
the  general  public.  Started  by  Friedrich  Nicolai  in  1765, 
and  during  the  greater  part  of  its  history  edited  by  him, 
devoted  mainly  to  reviews  and  discussions  of  current 
German  literature,  and  continued  to  the  year  1805,  the 
"  Bibliothek  "  was  during  those  years  a  power  in  literary 
Germany  whose  importance  is  incalculable.  To  say  that 
it  was  to  Germany  what  the  "  Encyclopaedic,"  founded 
by  Diderot  and  d'Alembert,  was  to  France  —  a  compari- 
son sometimes  made  —  is  only  so  far  true  as  both  were 
champions  of  intellectual  freedom,  but  is  otherwise  un- 
just to  the  moral  influence  of  the  German  periodical. 

In  literature  the  "  Bibliothek  "  encouraged  Germanism, 
— native  forms  and  native  talent, — as  against  the  French 
classicism  of  Gottsched,  who  for  many  years  had  ruled 
the  taste  and  given  the  law  to  his  countrymen.  It  fav- 
ored English  rather  than  French  models,  but  without 


THE  UNIVERSAL   GERMAN  LIBRARY.         191 

espousing  the  cause  of  the  Swiss  party,  —  Bodmer  and 
Breitinger,  —  in  their  contest  with  Gottsched.  Nicolai 
had  already,  in  a  previous  publication,  called  these 
w^ould-be  Swiss  dictators  to  order,  comparing  them  to  the 
magistrates  of  a  small  city,  who,  because  their  word  is 
law  within  their  own  borders,  flatter  themselves  that  they 
are  looked  up  to  with  admiration  by  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Of  Bodmer's  weak  epics  he  had  said,  that,  inasmuch  as  an 
epic  poem  is  the  supreme  product  of  the  human  mind,  a 
poet  who  will  insist  on  writing  epic  after  epic  must  either 
be  a  miracle  of  Nature,  or  a  very  enthusiastic  believer  in 
his  own  capacity  for  such  achievement. 

The  "  Bibliothek  "  would  allow  of  no  dictatorship  such 
as  Germany  had  submitted  to  in  time  past;  it  tolerated  no 
exclusive  authority,  but  recognized  excellence  in  various 
kinds,  and  in  its  earlier,  better  days  endeavored  to  do 
justice  to  real  worth  without  regard  to  prejudice  or  pre- 
cedent. In  this  way  it  became  a  liberator  of  the  German 
mind,  and  supplied  a  stimulus  to  native  talent  before 
unknown.  As  an  instance  of  the  fairness  with  which  it 
was  conducted,  it  is  mentioned  that  when  Goethe's  works 
were  to  be  reviewed,  the  editor,  whom  Goethe  had  held 
up  to  ridicule,  committed  the  task  to  other  hands,  fearing 
for  himself  some  bias  of  personal  resentment. 

In  philosophy  and  religion,  the  "  Bibliothek  "  repre- 
sented and  constituted  itself  the  foremost  champion  of 
what  in  the  history  of  German  literature  is  known  as 
the  Aufkldrung,  This,  as  a  marked  and  memorable 
epoch  of  that  history,  demands  some  notice. 

The  word  Die  Aufkldrung  may  be  rendered,  as  nearly 
as  we  can  hit  it  in  English,  "  Enlightenment."  It  means 
emancipation  from  the  bondage  of  old  superstitions, 
deliverance  from  the  night  of  unreason,  the  triumph  of 


192  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  understanding  over  mystifications,  ecclesiastical  and 
other ;  in  a  word,  free  thought  as  opposed  to  dogma. 
In  this  sense  the  Aufkldrung  was  not  peculiar  to  Ger- 
many. The  eighteenth  century,  and  especially  the  latter 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  witnessed  the  same  recoil 
from  old  tradition  in  England  and  France  as  well.  In 
the  former  country,  Toland,  Collins,  Tyndal,  Woolston, 
Chubb,  Shaftesbury,  Bolingbroke,  Hume,  and  later,  with 
more  aggressive  spirit,  Thomas  Paine,  appeared  as  an- 
tagonists of  ecclesiastical  authority  and  the  prevalent 
creed.  The  philosophy  of  the  seventeenth  century,  along 
with  its  other  results  and  mental  revolutions,  had  borne 
this  fruit.  The  old  mediasval  philosophy  took  upon  itself 
to  be  the  interpreter  of  religion,  and  wrought  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Church.  Descartes,  the  pioneer  of  the  new, 
would  owe  nothing  to  authority ;  he  would  begin  at  the 
beginning,  and,  to  make  sure  that  no  prejudice  or  habit 
of  thought  derived  from  the  old  remained  to  vitiate  his 
system,  would  allow  nothing  which  he  had  not  first 
proved.  "  I  will  doubt  all,"  he  declared ;  that  is,  "  I 
challenge  all."  The  doubt  which  with  him  was  merely 
formal  and  experimental,  a  terminus  a  quo^  became  in 
another  generation  a  terminus  in  quern.  The  influence 
of  Locke  undesignedly  took  the  same  direction.  The 
principles  propounded  by  that  cautious  sage  reached 
further  than  he  knew,  and  engendered  a  progeny  he 
little  expected.  Toland  quoted  his  authority  in  a  work 
which  was  publicly  burned  by  the  hangman,  and  would 
have  brought  upon  its  author  the  vengeance  of  the  law 
had  he  not  been  forewarned  and  escaped.  Locke  had  vin- 
dicated the  reasonableness  of  Christianity,  and  Toland 
assumed  to  occupy  the  same  ground  when  he  published 
his  work  with  the  title  "  Christianity  not  Mysterious  " 


THE  UNIVERSAL    GERMAN  LIBRARY.         193 

But  the  magistrates  of  Dublin  seemed  to  have  thought 
that  if  Christianity  were  not  mysterious,  the  bottom  was 
out  of  everything.  Anthony  Collins,  a  disciple  and  per- 
sonal friend  of  Locke,  wrote,  sometime  after  the  master's 
death,  a  Discourse  on  Freethinking,  which  roused  a  hor- 
net's nest  of  critics,  who  allowed  indeed  that  thought 
should  be  free,  but  insisted  that  it  must  be  the  right 
kind  of  thought.  It  must  be  allowed  that  these  writings, 
although  claiming  the  support  of  Locke's  principles,  were 
not  conceived  in  his  spirit,  and  were  not  in  accord  with 
his  intent.  But  it  must  also  be  allowed  that  the  prin- 
ciples were  logically  susceptible  of  the  application  given 
them  by  these  writers.  Admit  the  autonomy  of  reason, 
and  you  cannot  invoke  authority  to  dictate  the  conclu- 
sions at  which  reason  shall  arrive.  Hume,  the  arch 
sceptic,  the  final  outcome  of  Locke's  philosophy,  dis- 
cerned the  irreconcilable  conflict  between  the  claims  of 
authority  and  reason.  "  I  am  the  better  pleased,"  he 
says,  at  the  close  of  his  essay  on  the  impossibility  of 
proving  miracles,  "  with  the  method  of  reasoning  here 
delivered,  as  I  think  it  may  serve  to  confound  those 
dangerous  friends,  or  disguised  enemies,  of  the  Christian 
religion  who  have  undertaken  to  defend  it  by  the  prin- 
ciples of  human  reason.  Our  most  holy  religion  is 
founded  on  faith,  not  on  reason ;  and  it  is  a  sure  method 
of  exposing  it,  to  put  it  to  such  a  trial  as  it  is  by  no 
means  fitted  to  endure." 

In  France  the  revolt  against  ecclesiastical  authority, 
conducted  by  such  men  as  Voltaire,  Condorcet,  Diderot, 
and  others,  contributors  to  the  "  Encyclopsedie,"  as- 
sumed more  formidable  proportions.  More  radical  in 
its  negations,  more  fierce  in  its  assaults,  more  diffused 
in  its  influence,  it  was  one  of  the  primary  agencies  in 

13 


194  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

effecting  the  overthrow  of  the  ancient  order,  —  the  great 
Revolution,  with  its  terrors  and  its  woes. 

In  Germany  the  Aufkldrung  was  a  milder  type  of  the 
same  protest.  It  was  not  destructive,  but  reformatory  ; 
not  infidelity  in  any  true  sense,  but  rationalism.  Weak 
in  principle,  shallow  of  insight,  and  barren  of  ideas,  it 
sought  to  square  everything  by  the  rule  and  measure  of 
the  sensuous  understanding ;  enthroned  the  gesunder 
Menschenver stand  —  sound  common-sense  —  as  supreme 
arbiter,  flouted  all  mysteries,  discredited  the  deeper 
experiences,  ignored  the  graver  questions  of  the  soul, 
and  bounded  its  views  by  the  narrow  horizon  of  every- 
day life.  Its  one  merit  —  and  that  was  a  high  one  in 
those  days  —  was  its  brave  defence  of  intellectual  free- 
dom, its  steady  and  consistent  advocacy  of  the  right  of 
private  judgment  against  bigotry  and  pedantry  in  Church 
and  school.  In  this  respect  it  rendered  good  service  to 
literature,  and  deserves  the  thanks  of  the  nation,  though 
the  nation  has  outgrown  its  need. 

Of  this  Aufkldrung  the  "  Allgemeine  deutsche  Biblio- 
thek  "  was  the  organ,  and  Nicolai  the  chief  and  inde- 
fatigable champion. 

Christoph  Friedrich  Nicolai  was  born  in  Berlin  on  the 
18th  of  March,  1733,  the  son  of  a  bookseller.  He  was 
sent  as  a  boy  to  the  Orphanotrophium  in  Halle,  —  a 
school  founded  near  the  close  of  the  previous  century 
by  Hermann  Franke,  the  celebrated  philanthropist,  one 
of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  his  time.  In  this  institu- 
tion —  where  orphans  without  means  received  gratuitous 
instruction  —  other  children  were  also  taught  at  mod- 
erate charges.  The  strictness  of  the  religious  disci- 
pline here  practised  —  a  discipline  not  equally  suited  to 


FRIEDRICH  NICOLAI.  195 

all  natures  —  created  in  young  Nicolai  a  repulsion  to 
which,  in  an  autobiographical  notice,  he  ascribes  the 
aversion  to  ''  show-religion "  which  characterized  his 
riper  years.  He  was  afterward  placed  at  the  Realschule 
in  Berlin,  and  then,  in  his  seventeenth  year,  sent  to 
Frankfort-on-the-Oder  to  receive  his  initiation  in  the 
bookseller's  trade,  to  which  he  was  destined  by  his 
father.  Here  he  devoted  his  leisure  hours  to  the  study 
of  languages  and  philosophy,  under  the  influence  of 
Baumgarten,  Professor  of  Philosophy  in  that  city,  who 
has  the  credit  of  founding  the  science  of  aesthetics,  to 
which  he  gave  the  name.  Nicolai  made  himself  ac- 
quainted with  the  system  of  Wolff,  the  reigning  philos- 
ophy of  that  time ;  also,  with  the  Greek  and  Latin 
classics,  and  to  some  extent  with  the  English  poets,  — 
then  already  beginning  to  supplant  the  French  in  the 
favor  of  his  countrymen.  His  first  publication,  put 
forth  anonymously,  was  a  vindication  of  Milton  against 
the  absurd  attack  of  Gottsched,  who  charged  the  poet 
with  having  stolen  the  "  Paradise  Lost  "  from  Latin  au- 
thors,—  on  the  ground,  perhaps,  of  Lauder's  "  Auctorum 
Miltoni  facem  praelucentium,"  in  which  the  "Adamus 
Exsul "  of  Grotius  is  mentioned  as  having  furnished 
Milton  with  a  portion  of  his  argument.  Gottsched,  who 
had  all  his  life  maintained  the  supremacy  of  French 
literature,  —  who  had  modelled  his  own  writings,  and 
endeavored  to  model  those  of  his  countrymen,  after  the 
French  pattern,  —  beheld  with  indignation  the  dawn  of 
a  preference  for  the  English,  and  hoped  by  his  sovereign 
word  to  extinguish  the  dangerous  rival. 

Meanwhile,  Nicolai's  father  had  died,  his  elder  brother 
had  succeeded  to  the  book-selling  business,  and  Fried- 
rich  returned  to  Berlin  to  act  as  his  assistant.     But  the 


196  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

life  of  an  author  was  more  attractive,  and  the  greater 
part  of  his  time  and  talent  thenceforth,  and  even  after 
tlie  death  of  his  brother  had  devolved  upon  him  the  main 
burden  of  the  firm,  was  devoted  to  literary  labor.  In 
1755  he  produced  a  work  which  excited  general  interest 
by  its  bold  criticism  of  the  prominent  authors  of  the 
day,  entitled  "  Briefe  iiber  den  itzigen  Zustand  der 
schonen  Wissenschaften  in  Deutschland."  In  1757  he 
edited  a  magazine  with  the  title,  "Bibliothek  der  schonen 
Wissenschaften  und  der  freien  Kiinste."  This  soon 
passed  into  other  hands,  and  was  succeeded  in  1759  by 
another,  which  Nicolai  conducted  with  the  aid  of  Les- 
sing  and  of  Mendelssohn,  —  the  "  Litteratur briefe,"  a 
critical  journal,  which  discussed  literary  subjects  with 
freedom  and  vigor,  and  (as  might  be  expected  from 
Lessing's  co-operation)  from  a  height  of  critical  intui- 
tion before  unknown.     Says  Hettner  :  — 

*'  His  mighty  word  [that  is,  Lessing's]  struck  Hke  a  purify- 
ing thunderbolt  into  the  sultry,  stifling  azote  of  the  pretentious 
mediocrity  which  surrounded  him.  Out  of  every  line  speaks 
the  loftier  mood  of  the  Seven  Years'  War.  Felix  Weisse  com- 
pares the  amazement  produced  by  the  *  Litteraturbriefe  '  to  the 
terror  which  heralded  the  appearance  of  the  Prussian  soldiers 
on  the  battlefield.  At  the  same  time  its  criticism  was  in  the 
highest  sense  creative ;  the  banner  of  Shakspeare,  which  until 
then  had  been  but  a  dim  and  distant  vision,  now  unfurled  itself 
in  its  purity  and  power,  and  became  thenceforth  the  object 
of  aspiration  to  the  newly-quickened  desire  for  nature  and 
nationality." 

It  was  only,  however,  while  Lessing  was  associated 
with  it  that  the  new  journal  maintained  its  high  posi- 
tion, and  exercised  its  full  power.  When  he  removed 
to  Breslau,  and  from  there  contributed  only  occasional 


FRIEDRICH  NICOLAI.  197 

brief  essays,  it  lost  the  chief  element  of  its  success.  It 
took  a  different  turn  ;  high  literary  criticism  gave  place 
to  essays  aiming  at  theological  and  moral  enlighten- 
ment ;  until,  finally,  iii  1765,  its  editor  and  his  co-workers 
dropped  it,  and  issued  in  its  place  the  new  periodical 
already  mentioned,  which  made  this  aim  its  specialty,  — 
the  "  Allgemeine  deutsche  Bibliothek." 

Nicolai's  literary  activity  did  not  confine  itself  to  the 
labor  bestowed  on  these  periodicals.  A  man  of  inde- 
fatigable industry,  he  wrote  various  works  of  consider- 
able note  in  their  day,  most  of  which  were  inspired  by 
the  same  zeal  for  enlightenment,  contending  against 
superstition,  intolerance,  and  what  he  regarded  as  the 
errors  and  evils  of  the  time.  The  most  important  of 
these  is  the  work  entitled  "The  Life  and  Opinions  of 
Master  Sebaldus  Nothanker,"  —  a  satire  directed  against 
the  ecclesiastical  bigotry  and  persecution  which,  in  spite 
of  the  thunders  of  the  "  Bibliothek,''  still  pursued  its 
baleful  course.  Sebaldus  Nothanker,  the  hero,  is  an 
honest,  pious  village  clergyman,  who  on  account  of  his 
liberal  sentiments  incurs  the  ill-will  of  his  fanatical 
bishop  (superintendent),  is  deposed  from  office,  de- 
prived of  his  livelihood,  and  driven  to  various  shifts 
for  a  maintenance,  until,  by  a  fortunate  accident,  he 
obtains  a  competence  for  his  declining  years.  This 
narrative  forms  the  ground-work  of  many  severe  at- 
tacks on  the  prevalent  wrongs  and  abuses  of  society. 
The  prime  object  is  to  unmask  the  hypocrisy  of  certain 
Orthodox  divines,  who  attempted  to  impose  on  the  pub- 
lic their  own  private  interest  as  the  interest  of  religion 
and  "  even  of  Almighty  God."  But  other  typical  char- 
acters, easily  recognized  in  the  personnel  of  the  story, 
come  in  for  a  share  of  the  author's  satire.     The  work 


198  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

was  a  happy  hit,  and  had  an  immense  success.  Four 
large  editions  were  soon  exhausted.  It  gave  rise  to  a 
whole  literature  of  attacks  and  vindications,  translations 
into  various  languages,  and  plentiful  imitations.  The 
Empress  Catharine  was  so  delighted  with  it  that  she 
sent  the  author  a  gold  medal,  and  in  an  autograph  let- 
ter requested  him  to  forward  to  her  immediately  all 
future  productions  of  his  pen.  Lessing  and  Wieland 
gave  it  high  praise  ;  and  even  Fichte,  while  fiercely 
censuring  Nicolai  on  other  grounds,  acknowledged  the 
merits  of  this  production. 

The  following  extract  will  give  some  notion  of  the 
humor  of  the  book.  Among  the  characters  it  satirizes 
is  that  of  an  epicure,  —  a  certain  Count  Nimmer,  —  to 
whom,  as  an  influential  nobleman,  the  ejected  clergy- 
man applies  for  intercession  with  the  ecclesiastical  au- 
thorities. The  Count,  suffering  with  a  fit  of  indigestion 
from  yesterday's  surfeit,  is  reclining  on  a  lounge  and 
sipping  his  morning  chocolate.  Sebaldus  approaches 
with  many  bows,  and  stammers  something,  which  the 
Count  understands  to  be  an  inquiry  after  his  health :  — 

"  Not  very  well,  my  dear  Herr  Pastor ;  my  troublesome 
morning  cough  torments  me  more  and  more  every  day.  I 
can't  eat.  Yesterday  I  ventured  to  partake  of  a  woodcock 
pasty,  and  to-day  my  stomach  is  still  oppressed  with  it.  I  am 
too  feeble.  Even  melons  no  longer  agree  with  me,  and  pine- 
apples cause  flatulence.  For  to-day,  I  have  merely  ordered  a 
ragout  Jin.  I  must  fast  to-day,  in  order  to  restore  the  tone  of 
my  stomach.  But,  dear  Herr  Pastor,  is  n't  it  a  sad  thing  not 
to  be  able  to  eat  ?  " 

The  poor  minister,  who  has  fasted  from  necessity,  and 
sees  starvation  before  him,  replies :  — 


FRIEDRICH  NICOLAL  199 

"  Yes,  your  Grace,  —  almost  as  bad  as  to  have  nothing  to  eat. 
I  am  almost  afraid  I  shall  be  in  that  predicament." 

The  Count,  who  is  ignorant  as  yet  of  the  object  of  his 
visit,  supposes  him  to  refer  to  the  difficulty  of  obtaining 
foreign  delicacies  on  account  of  the  war,  —  the  Seven 
Years'  War,  then  raging  in  Germany,  —  and,  without 
waiting  for  further  explanation,  interrupts  him, — 

"  You  are  right,  dear  Herr  Pastor,  there  will  soon  be  noth- 
ing more  to  eat ;  this  wretched  war  spoils  everything.  I  spent 
last  winter  most  miserably ;  the  oysters  arrived  very  irregu- 
larly. The  whole  winter  long  1  did  n't  so  much  as  see  a  black 
grouse  from  Prussia ;  no  wild  ducks  either  from  that  quarter. 
You  know,  Herr  Pastor,  I  am  a  German  patriot ;  I  can't  en- 
dure French  dishes.  Their  consommes  a  la  Gardinale,  their 
cotelettes  d'agneau  f rites  won't  do  for  me.  Dear  Herr  Pastor, 
we  must  remember  that  we  are  Germans ;  we  may,  to  be  sure, 
put  up  with  good  French  sauces,  but  otherwise  our  diet  must 
be  German.  And  I  know  the  best  things  to  be  had  in  all  Ger- 
man provinces.  Now,  there  are  few  people  in  this  part  of  the 
country  who  understand  what  a  Pommeranian  murane  is,  or  a 
flinder  from  the  isle  of  Hela,  or  a  hrasse  from  Berlin.  These 
things  I  used  to  get  formerly  every  post-day.  But  now,  Herr 
Pastor,  it  is  all  done  with.  Last  March  I  ordered  a  'pdte  from 
Hanau,  and  a  spiced  Schwartenmagen  from  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main ;  and  the  Prussian  hussars  captured  them  at  Fulda  on  the 
way.  Who  the  devil  would  have  thought  that  the  fellows 
would  leave  their  winter  quarters  in  March  ?  In  October  I  sent 
for  field-fare  from  the  Harz  Mountains,  and  the  Liickner  men 
gobbled  them  up.  In  February  I  should  have  had  pheasants 
from  Bohemia  but  for  the  troops  stationed  at  Wilsdruf.  And 
the  French  are  no  better.  Last  month,  at  Bielefeld,  they  stole 
my  Westphalian  hams  and  the  champagne  in  which  they  were 
to  be  boiled :  it  is  clear  that  they  care  more  for  Westphalian 
hams  than  they  do  for  the  peace  of  Westphalia.  The  caviare 
sent  me  from  Konigsberg  the  Russians  intercepted  at  Kosslin, 


200  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

and  shipped  it  at  Kolberg :  I  should  like  to  know  what  busi- 
ness their  fleet  had  with  my  caviare.  I  ordered  crabs  from 
Sonnenburg  (Herr  Pastor,  those  are  the  best  crabs  for  size  and 
flavor),  but  they  will  go  into  the  maws  of  the  Swedes." 

All  this  while  the  poor  pastor  had  not  been  able  to 
get  in  a  word.  But  the  footman  at  this  point  announced 
breakfast,  and  the  Count — premising  that  he  always  left 
the  choice  of  the  breakfast  to  the  cook,  that  his  appetite 
might  gain  by  surprise  —  insisted  that  Sebaldus  should 
share  the  meal  with  him. 

"  Let  us  see  what  we  have  got  to-day.  Aha !  a  capon  with 
truffles ;  not  so  bad !     Let  me  help  you." 

At  last  the  preacher  found  opportunity  to  represent 
the  distress  of  his  family,  and  to  beg  the  Count  to  inter- 
cede for  him  with  the  president  of  the  Consistory.  The 
Count  replies  :  — 

*^  Ah  !  so  you  want  my  intercession  ?  I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
serve  you.  I  have  ceased  going  to  town  ;  the  table  there  is  so 
bad,  —  and  especially  at  the  president's.  I  will  never  in  all  my 
life  visit  him  again.  A  half  year  ago  he  gave  me  onion  soup 
and  smoked  Niiremberg  sausages !  I  don't  understand  how  a 
human  being  can  subsist  on  such  food." 

Of  Nicolai's  other  writings,  the  most  noticeable  are 
his  "  Travels  in  Germany  and  Switzerland,"  "  Anecdotes 
of  Frederic  the  Great,"  "  Life  and  Opinions  of  Sempro- 
nius  Gundibert,  a  German  Philosopher,"  "  The  History 
of  a  Fat  Man,  in  which  are  three  Marriages,  three 
Mittens,  and  a  good  deal  of  Love,"  and  a  curious  and 
learned  treatise  "  On  the  Use  of  False  Hair  and  Wigs  in 
Ancient  and  Modern  Time." 

When  Goethe's  "  Sorrows  of  Werther  "  appeared  and 
took  the  civilized  world  by  storm,  Nicolai,  to  show  his 


FRIEDRICH  NIC  OLA  I.  201 

disapproval  of  the  work,  —  its  sentimentality,  and  espe- 
cially its  tragic  ending,  suicide  from  hopeless  love, — 
published  a  foolish  parody,  entitled  '*  The  Joys  of  Young 
Werther,"  in  which,  the  hero's  pistol  being  loaded  with 
chicken's  blood,  he  survives  the  suicidal  attempt,  mar- 
ries Charlotte,  and  is  happy  ever  after. 

His  "  Sempronius  Gundibert "  was  an  attack  on  Kant, 
whose  philosophy  was  then  a  recent  dispensation,  flush 
with  its  early  renown.  It  was  not  a  wise  undertaking, 
and  suggests  the  well-meant  but  mistaken  zeal  of  the 
dog  who  barked  at  the  first  railway  train  that  passed 
his  master's  premises.  In  fact,  it  did  not  arrest  the 
triumphant  career  of  that  philosophy.  Nevertheless,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  the  author  of  "  Gundibert "  de- 
tects weak  points  in  the  Konigsberger's  argument,  espe- 
cially in  the  "  Kritik  der  praktischen  Yernunft ;  "  and, 
regarding  the  matter  from  the  utilitarian,  Gradgrind 
point  of  view,  he  has  a  good  deal  to  say  against  the  ex- 
pediency of  a  plain  man's  troubling  himself  with  Kantian 
metaphysics.  Nicolai  himself  was  something  of  a  Grad- 
grind, —  a  man  for  whom  the  loftiest  and  the  deepest  in 
poetry,  philosophy,  and  religion  had  no  charm;  with 
whom  hard  facts  and  every-day  experience  weighed  more 
than  all  the  sublimities  and  profundities  and  abstrac- 
tions of  the  schools.  Yery  un-German  in  this  respect, 
more  akin  to  the  English  mind.  He  had  even  a  touch 
of  English  humor,  —  or  at  any  rate  affected  it,  —  as  will 
be  seen  in  the  following  extract  from  his  Introduction 
to  the  "  History  of  a  Fat  Man  "  :  — 

"  We  are  accustomed  to  judge  the  unknown  by  the  known. 
This  is  even  a  rule  with  the  learned.  And  therefore  I  wajrer 
that  the  learned  reader,  when  he  sees  the  title  of  this  book,  will 
immediately  review  in  his  memory  all  the  fat  men  of  ancient 


202  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

and  modern  time,  in  order  to  compare  them  with  our  fat  man. 
But  I  will  also  wager  that  the  learned  reader  will  experience 
what  very  often  happens  to  learned  people.  They  reason 
from  their  indwelling  learning  and  wisdom  concerning  men  and 
human  affairs  so  strictly,  so  critically,  so  wisely,  so  cogently, 
so  incontrovertibly,  that  every  one  must  be  satisfied  of  the  cor- 
rectness of  their  propositions,  unless  it  should  happen  that  no 
one  understands  them,  —  of  which  they  are  apt  to  complain. 
Nevertheless,  it  not  unfrequently  occurs  that  not  one  of  their 
inferences  and  conclusions  is  found  to  hit  the  fact  when  they 
come  out  of  their  studies,  their  gymnasiums,  lyceums,  univer- 
sities, academies  of  the  sciences  and  fine  arts,  or  whatever  may 
be  the  name  of  the  learned  forcing-houses  in  which,  by  means 
of  much  learned  manure  and  not  a  little  learned  smoke,  all 
human  knowledge  and  understanding  are  brought  to  maturity 
much  earlier  than  with  poor  ignorant  mortals  who  do  not  fer- 
tilize their  immortal  mind  either  by  much  reading  or  specula- 
tion, and  whose  miserable  fortune  it  is  merely  to  work  and 
to  act. 

"  So  far  as  the  learned  friends  of  the  author  remember,  there 
are  —  without  reckoning  three  fat  kings,  and  fat  prelates  with- 
out number  —  only  seven  very  celebrated  short  and  fat  men. 
If  now  the  learned  reader  supposes  that  our  fat  man  resembles 
one  of  these,  or  any  other  fat  man  that  may  occur  to  him,  it 
is  ten  to  one  again  that  the  learned  reader  is  mistaken.  .  .  . 
Especially  we  entreat  you,  kind  reader,  not  to  connect  in  your 
thought  our  fat  man  with  any  king  who  may  have  been  short 
and  fat.     We  are  not  going  to  speak  of  kings  at  all. 

"  Not  a  word  more  then  of  Charles,  the  fat  king  of  Germany 
and  France,  who  wanted  his  wife,  after  ten  years  of  married 
life,  to  prove  her  continued  virginity  by  contact  with  red-hot 
iron  ;  nor  of  Louis,  the  fat  king  of  half  France,  who,  in  order 
to  make  sure  of  heaven,  died  on  a  cross  strewn  with  ashes  ;  nor 
of  the  short  and  fat  king  of  England,  who  married  three  Kates, 
two  Anns,  and  a  Hannah ;  nor  of  all  the  other  short  and  fat 
kings  of  the  world.  .  .  .  The  remarkable  seven  fat  men,  with 


FRIEDRICH  NICOLAL  203 

whom  one  might  be  inclined  to  compare  our  hero,  are  Ther- 
sites,  in  ancient  time ;  of  later  date,  Sancho  Panza,  Falstaff, 
Gil  Perez,  uncle  of  the  celebrated  Gil  Bias ;  the  fat  man  of 
Otaheite,  who  was  so  exalted  that  with  due  gravity  he  caused 
his  wives  every  day  to  stuff  the  food  into  his  mouth;  and 
two  fat,  short  persons  in  Tristram  Shandy,  Dr.  Slop,  the  man- 
midwife,  and  the  little  bandy-legged  drummer,  who  was  keep- 
ing guard  at  the  gate  of  Strasburg  when  a  stranger  from  the 
Promontory  of  Noses  rode  into  town  with  the  biggest  nose 
ever  seen, — of  which  the  world  and  posterity  would  have  had 
no  idea  had  not  the  celebrated  Slawkenbergius  taken  care  to 
give  an  exact  description  of  it." 

Every  one  has  heard  of  Nicolai's  spectral  visitations. 
In  1791  great  mental  trouble  had  seriously  impaired 
his  bodily  health  and  produced  a  disease  of  the  brain, 
which  caused  him  to  see  ghosts,  —  first  singly,  then  in 
numbers,  coming  and  going,  occupying  his  room,  and 
haunting  him  for  months.  It  seemed  to  be  the  nemesis 
and  irony  of  fate  that  the  man  who  all  his  life  had  been 
fighting  against  popular  illusions,  superstitions,  and  ex- 
ceptional wonders  of  every  kind,  should  be  doomed  to 
experience  in  his  own  person  the  most  remarkable  case 
of  spectral  illusion,  or  pseudopsy,  on  record.  But  Nico- 
lai  in  this  affliction  was  true  to  himself  and  his  doctrine  : 
he  stood  his  ground  against  the  ghosts ;  he  recognized 
them  at  once  as  figments  of  the  brain,  the  effect  of  dis- 
ease, and  subjected  them  to  calm  philosophic  observa- 
tion. He  recovered  his  health,  and  continued  to  write 
and  to  publish  twenty  years  longer,  until  his  death  in 
1811,  at  the  age  of  seventj^-eight. 

It  is  sad  when  an  author  outlives  himself,  and  fails 
to  perceive  that  he  has  lost  his  grasp  of  the  public 
mind,  —  when  no  longer  guiding  the  current  of  his  time 


204  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

he  yet  persists  to  put  in,  on  every  occasion,  his  super- 
fluous and  unheeded  word.  "  I  wonder  that  you  will 
still  be  talking,  Signor  Benedick ;  nobody  marks  you." 
For  half  a  century  Nicolai  had  been  the  oracle  of  the 
reading  multitude  of  his  nation,  and  had  ruled,  not  in- 
deed the  philosophic  and  scientific,  but  the  popular  mind 
of  his  time.  Had  he  only  known  when  his  reign  was 
over  and  his  mission  done !  could  he  only  have  under- 
stood that  he  who  has  the  bride  is  the  bridegroom  ! 
could  he  only  have  opened  his  eyes  to  perceive  the  rising 
of  a  new  sun,  and  hailed  it  with  the  hearty  confession, 
—  "  He  must  increase,  but  I  must  decrease  "  !  In  Ger- 
many, as  nowhere  else,  faction  and  fashion  sway  the 
republic  of  letters.  I  had  learned  in  my  youth  to  think 
of  Nicolai  as  a  shallow  twaddler,  and  nothing  more. 
Such  was  the  impression  I  got  from  the  spokesmen  of 
the  dynasty  which  supplanted  his  rule.  It  is  only  re- 
cently that  I  have  learned,  by  personal  acquaintance 
with  his  writings,  to  do  him  justice,  to  find  real  merit 
in  the  writer  and  the  man.  He  fought  a  good  fight  in 
his  day  against  bigotry  and  persecution  and  false  pre- 
tension of  every  kind,  and  deserves  high  honor  as  one  of 
the  liberators  of  the  German  mind.     Hettner  says  :  — 

"  It  is  time  to  finally  cease  from  speaking  of  Nicolai  only  in 
terms  of  contempt  and  scorn.  An  age  which  shall  do  justice 
once  more  to  the  great  merits  of  the  Aufkldrung  period,  cannot 
fail  to  do  justice  also  to  the  great  merits  of  Nicolai.  To  be 
sure,  it  is  Nicolai's  own  fault  that  the  follies  of  his  old  age 
caused  the  fame  of  his  youth  and  manhood  to  be  forgotten. 
Like  Gottsched,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  live  too  long  in  a  fast 
living  age ;  Uke  Gottsched,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  con- 
fess that  his  way  of  thinking,  and  his  influence,  had  been  al- 
ready overtaken  by  a  younger  and  more  advanced  generation. 


FRIEDRICH  NICOLAL  205 

His  writings  and  letters  sufficiently  testify  that  there  lay  in  his 
nature  an  invincible  propensity  to  self-conceit  and  vanity.  This 
propensity  had  been  fed  and  increased  by  the  early  fame  which 
had  been  conceded  to  him  by  the  best  men  of  his  time,  and  by 
the  important  and  commanding  position  which  he  held  for  long 
decades  at  the  head  of  the  most  significant  and  influential  jour- 
nals. Gradually  it  had  become  a  fixed  idea  with  him  that  his 
knowing  and  thinking  were  the  model  and  rule  for  all  knowing 
and  thinking ;  or,  as  Fichte,  in  his  polemic,  says,  '  that  he  had 
thought  of  everything  that  was  right  and  useful  in  any  depart- 
ment, and  that  all  which  he  had  not  thought,  or  would  not 
think,  was  useless  and  false.  I,  Friedrich  Nicolai,  think  differ- 
ently ;  by  that  you  can  see  that  you  are  wrong.'  .  .  .  When 
Lessing,  with  his  religious  and  philosophic  feeling,  outgrew  the 
narrowness  of  the  empty  and  vague  ideas  of  the  Aufkldrung, 
Nicolai  saw  in  the  new  departures  of  his  friend  only  love  of 
contradiction,  aimless  taste  for  singularity,  or  even  miserable 
contentiousness.  When,  with  Goethe  and  Schiller,  a  new  poe- 
try spi'ung  up  in  which  there  was  once  more  deep  and  original 
passion,  in  which  the  fulness  and  entireness  of  human  nature, 
sensibility,  and  imagination  resumed  their  rights,  —  when  Kant, 
and  afterward  Fichte  and  Schelling,  created  a  new  philosophy 
which  was  real  philosophy  once  more,  and  not  a  mere  thresh- 
ing of  the  straw  of  English  deism,  —  Nicolai,  in  the  pride  of  his 
perverted  self-consciousness,  considered  himself  called  to  be  the 
guardian  and  protector  of  good  taste  and  sound  common-sense, 
and  wrote  in  satirical  novels,  in  contributions  to  the  'Allge- 
meine  deutsche  Bibliothek,'  in  ^  Letters  of  a  Traveller,'  and 
would-be  scientific  works,  those  foolish  fanfaronades  which  had 
the  melancholy  effect  that  our  greatest  poets  and  thinkers  have 
handed  him  down  as  the  archetype  of  all  empty  heads  and 
wrong  heads,  and  thereby  disfigured  the  true  natural  features 
of  his  better  past.  All  around,  there  was  blossoming  and  flour- 
ishing the  new  time  which  has  become  the  classic  age  of  our 
German  poetry  and  science.  But  Nicolai,  with  silly  recusance 
and  peevish  irritation,  fought  against  everything  that  lay  out- 
side of  his  horizon,  and  deprived  of  the  counsel  and  aid  of  his 


206  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

old  friends  Leasing  and  Mendelssohn,  lost  himself  at  last  in  the 
flattest  loquacity,  in  the  dreariest  and  most  repulsive  book- 
making  and  book-selling  fussiness,  and  even  where  he  was  in 
the  right,  —  as  in  his  restless  unearthing  of  the  secret  hiding- 
places  and  creeping  ways  of  the  Jesuits,  in  his  ever-watchful 
pursuit  of  enthusiasts,  ghost-seers,  and  miracle-mongers,  — 
brought  upon  himself,  by  his  senseless  exaggeration  and  his 
flat  diffusiveness,  the  curse  of  ridiculousness.  ...  It  is  the 
most  important,  but  also  the  most  difficult,  problem  in  the  art 
of  life  for  a  writer,  as  he  grows  old,  to  discern  when  the  time 
has  come  for  him  to  hold  his  tongue." 


WIELAND.  207 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

WIELAND. 

T  HAVE  spoken  of  the  movement  known  in  the 
-*-  German  literary  world  as  the  Aufklarung,  —  a 
movement  initiated  by  Nicolai  and  represented  by  the 
Universal  German  Library.  The  influence  of  this  move- 
ment was  less  apparent  in  the  poetry  than  it  was  in  the 
prose  writings,  and  especially  those  of  the  second-class 
essayists  of  the  day.  Lessing,  although  associated  with 
Nicolai  in  his  earlier  efforts,  was  on  the  whole  unaffected 
by  it ;  and  Klopstock,  as  the  head  of  wliat  Gervinus  calls 
the  "  Seraphic  School,"  still  controlled  the  more  serious 
portion  of  his  countrymen  in  the  interest  of  a  sentimen- 
tal, rhapsodical,  and  somewhat  narrow-eyed  piety.  In 
the  latter  part  of  the  century  there  came  a  strong  reac- 
tion against  this  tendency,  initiated  by  Christoph  Martin 
Wieland,  born  in  Oberholtzheim,  in  Swabia,  1733. 

Wieland  did  not  at  once  emancipate  himself  from 
Klopstock' s  sway.  He  followed  for  a  while  the  leading 
of  that  spirit,  and  figures  in  the  earlier  stage  of  his 
career  as  a  religious  enthusiast.  His  youthful  produc- 
tions, his  "  Anti-Ovid,"  his  "  Trial  of  Abraham,"  his 
Psalms,  his  "  Letters  from  the  Dead  to  Surviving 
Friends,"  are  inspired  with  a  moral  and  spiritual  fervor 
which,  if  not  profound,  is  very  sincere,  and  which 
strangely  contrasts  with  the  worldly  tone  of  his  subse- 
quent writings.     Scarcely  any  two  authors  differ  more 


208  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

from  each  other  than  Wieland  differs  from  himself  in  the 
earlier  and  later  epochs  of  his  literary  history.  In  youth 
a  Christian  moralist,  in  his  riper  years  an  ethnic  and  an 
epicurean ;  in  both  characters  and  in  every  period  of  his 
life  an  indefatigable  workman.  At  the  age  of  seventeen 
he  published  a  didactic  poem  in  six  books,  entitled  "  The 
Nature  of  Things,"  and  from  that  time  forward  never 
ceased  writing,  until  in  1813  death,  at  the  age  of  four- 
score, arrested  his  pen.  Tt  would  occupy  more  space 
than  I  can  spare  even  to  name  by  their  respective  titles 
the  multitudinous  productions  —  novels,  poems,  satires, 
philosophical  and  historical  essays  —  which  make  up  the 
forty-nine  volumes  of  Gruber's  edition  of  his  works. 
Besides  this  mass  of  original  writings,  he  translated 
Shakspeare  (the  first  German  translation),  Horace's 
Epistles  and  Satires,  Cicero's  Epistles,  and  the  works  of 
Lucian,  and  was  editor  successively  of  several  journals 
and  magazines,  of  which  the  best  known  is  "  Der  deutsche 
Merkur."  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  quality  of 
his  work  in  these  performances,  one  cannot  but  admire 
the  immense  fecundity  of  the  man. 

Wieland,  like  Klopstock,  was  fortunate  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  an  assured  pecuniary  support  and  ample  leisure 
for  literary  pursuits.  The  son  of  a  Lutheran  clergyman, 
he  manifested  as  a  boy  a  remarkable  precociousness  of 
intellect ;  reading  Latin  with  ease  at  the  age  of  seven, 
and  planning  an  epic  poem  at  the  age  of  twelve.  In  his 
fifteenth  year  he  was  put  to  school  in  a  gymnasium  near 
Magdeburg,  and  in  his  seventeenth  entered  the  University 
of  Tubingen  nominally  as  a  student  of  law,  but  devoting 
himself  to  literature.  After  leaving  the  university  he 
spent  some  time  in  Switzerland  with  Bodmer,  who  had 
been  attracted  by  his  writings,  and  to  whose  influence 


WIELAND.  209 

we  owe  some  of  the  most  marked  of  the  spiritual  poems 
already  named,  especially  "  The  Trial  of  Abraham  "  and 
"  Letters  from  the  Dead."  At  this  period,  with  a  reli- 
gious zeal  bordering  on  fanaticism,  he  characterizes  poets 
of  a  secular  and  Anacreontic  turn  as  "  vermin  creeping 
at  the  foot  of  Parnassus,"  and  calls  upon  the  court- 
preacher  Sack,  in  Berlin,  to  denounce  from  the  pulpit 
the  offence  of  their  frivolous  lays.  In  1759  he  returned 
to  Biberach,  the  home  of  his  childhood,  and  there  re- 
ceived the  appointment  of  Kanzleidirector,  which  he  held 
for  ten  years.  He  was  then  called  by  the  Elector  of 
Mainz  to  the  professorial  chair  of  philosophy  and  belles- 
lettres  in  the  University  of  Erfurt,  and  in  1722  was  in- 
vited by  the  dowager  duchess  Anna  Amalia  of  Weimar 
to  take  charge  of  the  education  of  the  two  princes,  her 
sons  Karl  August  (afterward  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar, 
the  friend  of  Goethe)  and  Constantine.  This  office  he 
accepted  ;  and  when  with  the  adult  age  of  his  pupils  its 
function  expired,  he  continued  to  reside  at  Weimar,  re- 
ceiving in  the  name  of  other  offices,  which  were  sine- 
cures, or  nearly  so,  an  annual  stipend  from  the  Govern- 
ment during  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

While  residing  at  Biberach  the  direction  of  his  mind, 
and  with  it  of  his  writings,  had  undergone  a  complete 
revolution.  The  religious  zealot,  the  moral  purist,  had 
become,  not  in  practice  but  in  theory,  almost  a  libertine. 
Leading  a  pure  and  blameless  life,  his  poetry  took  on  a 
sensual,  not  to  say  licentious,  tone,  which  gave  great 
offence  to  his  former  friends.  The  disciples  of  the 
Klopstock  school  in  Gottingen  burned  his  books,  and 
Lavater  called  upon  all  good  Christians  to  pray  for  the 
renegade  sinner.  Certainly  it  is  much  to  be  regretted 
that  Wieland,  in  the  strong  reaction  against  the  senti' 

14 


210  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

mentalism  and  pietism  of  the  "  Seraphic  School "  and 
the  crude  opinions  of  his  own  youth,  —  a  reaction  in- 
duced by  intercourse,  under  the  patronage  of  Count 
Stadion  at  Biberach,  with  a  higher  class  of  society,  and 
by  the  study  of  Italian  and  French  literature,  —  that  he 
should  have  suffered  himself  to  be  betrayed  into  such 
compositions  as  *'  Das  Urtheil  des  Paris,"  "  Der  neue 
Amadis,"  "  Die  Grazien,"  and  others  of  like  import.  It 
could  hardly  fail  that  the  author's  morals  should  be 
called  in  question  by  readers  who  knew  nothing  of  him 
but  his  writings.  But  at  Weimar,  where  personal  ac- 
quaintance forbade  such  suspicions,  he  was  greatly  re- 
spected and  beloved.  The  duchess  mother,  a  wise  and 
noble  woman,  remained  through  life  the  poet's  fast 
friend;  and  Wieland  was  the  first  to  experience  that 
patronage  of  genius  which  afterward  Karl  August  ex- 
tended to  Herder,  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  others,  and 
which  gave  to  his  little  capital  its  well-deserved  title, 
"  the  Athens  of  Germany." 

Not  all  that  Wieland  wrote  in  this  stage  of  his  literary 
life  is  chargeable  with  those  offences  which  disgrace  the 
works  I  have  named.  The  "  Musarion,"  a  poem  of  much 
beauty,  whatever  its  moral  defects,  is  not  immoral  in  its 
purpose.  It  aims  to  show  how  easily  stern  moralists, 
disciples  of  Zeno  and  Pythagoras,  may  be  tempted  to 
transgress ;  and  how,  on  the  contrary,  a  woman  who  is 
no  prude,  who  allows  herself  great  freedom  of  manner, 
may  nevertheless  resist  temptation  and  maintain  her 
virtue. 

His  "  Agathon,"  a  prose  romance,  appears  to  have 
been  the  author's  favorite  work.  It  is  thought  to  em- 
body his  own  experience  (indeed  the  author  hints  as 
much  in  his  Preface),  and  suggests  the  practical  conclu- 


WIELAND.  211 

sions  to  be  drawn  from  that  experience.  He  took  the 
historic  Agathon,  the  disciple  of  Socrates,  for  his  nomi- 
nal hero,  but  invested  him  with  the  character  of  the  Ion 
of  Euripides,  and  in  the  person  of  this  youth  of  Greek 
costume  and  surroundings  he  portrays  his  intellectual 
and  moral  self.  The  work  therefore  may  be  considered 
as  the  "  Apologia  vitae  suae."  But  to  the  general  reader 
it  is  more  interesting  as  a  story  than  as  literary  self' 
portraiture.     Gervinus  says  :  — 

"  The  work  is,  as  to  its  form,  an  Alexandrian  romance,  with 
love  affairs,  separations,  and  reunions,  pirates,  slave-sales,  trials 
of  virtue  and  defeats,  soliloquies,  a  tossing  about  from  one  ad- 
venture to  another,  from  the  crown  to  the  beggar's  gown,  from 
rapture  to  despair,  from  Tartarus  to  Elysium.  .  ,  .  The  Greek 
coloring  is  not  well  hit ;  the  scenes  and  persons  are  from  the 
age  of  Socrates,  while  the  tone  is  from  the  letters  of  Aristae- 
netus  and  Alciphron.  The  bombast  and  tinsel  of  the  latest  time 
are  brought  into  strange  connection  with  the  Athenian  sage. 
All  this  is  characteristic  of  the  author's  levelling  propensity, 
as  it  is  that  his  Plato  imperceptibly  becomes  Socrates,  that  his 
Socrates  and  even  his  Diogenes  change  to  Aristippus,  to  Horace, 
to  Lucian,  and  all  at  last  merge  in  Wieland.  More  important 
than  the  form  is  the  moral  import  of  this  romance.  It  is  in- 
tended to  show  how  far  a  poor  mortal,  with  only  natural  powers, 
may  advance  in  wisdom  and  virtue,  how  much  we  are  influenced 
by  our  relations,  and  how  we  become  wise  and  good  only  by 
experience,  by  errors,  by  constant  working  on  ourselves,  by 
frequent  changes  of  mind,  and  especially  by  good  society  and 
good  examples.  For  this  purpose  the  author  brings  his  platonic 
Agathon,  with  his  youthful  enthusiasm  and  his  philosophy,  — 
which  makes  human  happiness  to  consist  in  a  contemplative 
life,  and  assigns  a  contemplative  life  to  the  groves  of  Delphos, — 
into  antagonism  with  the  sophist  Hippias,  whom  he  makes  the 
representative  of  that  new  philosophy  which  Wieland  had 
learned  from  the  English  and  the  French.     All  turns  on  the 


212  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

question  whether  enthusiasm  or  self-seeking,  spiritual  love  or 
sensual,  ideas  of  the  divinity  or  the  animality  of  man,  wisdom 
or  prudence,  are  most  consonant  with  the  truth.  The  evil 
principle  represented  by  Hippias  is  theoretically  assailed,  but 
practically  it  conquers.  Agathon's  belief  in  revelation  and  his 
strict  principles  are  wrecked  on  this  practical  secular  philoso- 
pher ;  his  innocence  is  wrecked  on  Danae ;  but  he  still  retains 
in  secret  an  inextinguishable  attachment  to  the  favorite  ideas 
of  his  youth." 

Wieland  outgrew  this  second  phase  of  his  intellectual 
life  as  he  had  outgrown  the  first.  Reflection,  public 
opinion,  and  the  censure  of  approved  critics  convinced 
him  of  his  mistake  in  exalting  sensual  themes.  His 
"  Conversations  with  a  Pastor,"  an  essay  published  in 
1775,  is  partly  a  confession  and  partly  a  sophistical  ex- 
tenuation of  his  offences  in  that  direction.  To  say  that 
he  repented  would  be  saying  too  much  ;  that  term 
would  imply  that  he  had  sinned  against  his  conscience 
in  sending  forth  into  the  world  those  objectionable  com- 
positions. But  such  was  not  the  case.  It  was  not  a 
moral  but  an  assthetic  offence  which  he  seemed  to  him- 
self to  have  committed  in  so  doing.  It  was  not  a  sin  of 
the  heart  but  of  the  head  of  which  he  had  been  guilty. 
His  heart  was  not  in  those  writings  any  more  than  it 
had  been  in  the  pious  rhapsodies  which  preceded  them. 
In  both  cases  he  had  supposed  that  that  was  the  true  way 
to  write,  and  had  written  accordingly ;  in  both  cases  he 
found  that  he  was  mistaken,  and  abandoned  that  way 
accordingly.  He  was  no  more  a  sensualist  than  he  was 
a  pietist ;  the  real  nature  of  the  man  was  no  more  ex- 
pressed in  the  one  style  than  it  was  in  the  other.  The 
truth  is,  —  and  this  is  the  main  defect  of  the  writer  and 
the  man,  —  there  was  no  real  nature  to  be  expressed,  no 


WIELAND.  213 

deep  reality,  no  original  bias,  no  interior  necessity  deter- 
mining him  one  way  rather  than  another.  He  had  no 
root  in  himself.  A  man  who  was  altogether  swayed  and 
determined  from  without,  he  took  his  cue  from  occasion, 
from  the  latest  impression,  from  the  tone  of  the  society 
in  which  he  moved.  Such  a  nature  of  course  is  incom- 
patible with  true  genius  ;  and  genius,  in  the  stricter 
and  more  limited  sense  of  the  term,  he  had  not,  but 
extraordinary  giffcs,  exceptional  talent, —  such  talent  as 
sometimes  culminates  into  the  altitude  of  genius,  and  is 
capable  of  the  same  effects. 

This  talent  is  conspicuous  in  his  "  Oberon,"  his  great- 
est poem,  and  the  work  on  which  the  author's  fame  must 
ultimately  rest.  "  Oberon  "  is  an  epic  in  twelve  cantos, 
of  which  the  hero  and  a  portion  of  the  fable  are  taken 
from  an  old  French  romance,  entitled  "  Huon  of  Bor- 
deaux." Sir  Huon  is  the  hero,  but  the  Oberon  who  gives 
his  name  to  the  poem  is  not  the  Oberon  of  the  French 
story,  but  the  Oberon  of  Shakspeare's  "  Midsummer- 
Night's  Dream  "  and  Chaucer's  "Merchant's  Tale."  The 
interests  of  the  two  —  the  knight  and  the  fairy  king  — 
are  finely  interwoven,  and  furnish  the  two  main  motives 
which  govern  the  plot  and  determine  the  course  of  the 
story.  Sir  Huon  journeying  to  Bagdad  by  order  of 
Charlemagne,  whence  he  is  to  fetch  the  beard  of  tlie  caliph 
together  with  his  daughter,  as  the  condition  of  his  res- 
toration to  his  country  and  the  recovery  of  his  paternal 
estates,  encounters  Oberon,  who  assists  him  in  that  en- 
terprise with  his  magic  gifts,  with  the  horn  which  sets 
every  one  a  dancing  who  is  guilty  of  any  secret  fault, 
and  the  cup  which  yields  of  itself  a  never  failing  draught. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  knight,  by  his  marriage  with 
Rezia   the  caliph's   daughter,  and  their  unconquerable 


214  HOURS  WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

fidelity,  proof  against  the  hardest  trials,  is  the  means  of 
reconciling  Oberon  with  Titania,  whom  the  fairy-king 
had  sworn  to  banish  from  his  presence  until  a  tried  and 
faithful  couple  should  prove  the  existence  on  earth  of 
unchangeable  constancy. 

In  the  way  of  artistic  construction,  in  adaptation  of 
part  to  part,  in  harmonious  wholeness,  this  masterpiece 
of  Wieland  has  never  been  surpassed.  In  form  it  is  a 
perfect  epopee,  and  the  subject-matter,  though  not  abso- 
lutely free  from  the  vice  of  the  author's  second  period, 
is  in  that  respect  mostly  unobjectionable.  The  portrait- 
ures are  spirited,  the  interest  well  sustained,  and  the 
rhythmical  movement  —  the  versification  with  varying 
numbers  and  varying  rhyme  according  to  the  exigencies 
of  the  language — has  that  marvellous  flowing  ease  which 
makes  metre  and  rhyme  seem  spontaneous  and  acciden- 
tal, and  which  justifies  the  contemporary  designation  of 
Wieland  as  "  the  poet  of  the  Graces."  The  elan  of  the 
first  verse  reminds  one  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  epics,  — 

"  Noch  einmal  sattlet  mir  den  Hippogryphen,  ihr  Musen!  " 

A  more  graceful,  and  I  may  add  a  more  charming,  poem 
of  equal  length  I  have  not  found.  William  Taylor  thinks 
that  no  poem  since  Tasso's  "•  Gerusalemme  "  is  so  well 
fitted  to  be  a  "  European  classic."  The  Schlegels  hailed 
it  as  the  revival  of  the  Romantic  interest,  and  Goethe 
wrote  to  Lavater  concerning  it  these  memorable  words  : 
"  So  long  as  poetry  remains  poetry,  gold  gold,  and  crys- 
tal crystal,  Oberon  will  be  loved  and  admired  as  a  mas- 
terpiece of  poetic  art." 

Wieland  has  been  called  the  German  Voltaire.  The 
comparison  is  unjust,  and  altogether  misapprehends,  as 
it  seems  to  me,  the  characteristics  of  the  two  writers. 


WIELAND.  215 

The  only  resemblance  between  them  lies  in  the  versa- 
tility of  their  talent  and  in  their  want  of  original  insight 
and  strong  convictions.  Wieland  has  nothing  of  Vol- 
taire's bitterness,  and  very  little  of  his  irreverence  or 
persiflage  ;  and  though,  for  a  German,  defective  in  depth 
and  earnestness,  he  is,  compared  with  Voltaire,  both 
earnest  and  profound.  He  is  French  in  the  perspicuity 
of  his  style,  but  not  French  in  the  method  of  his  mind. 
The  writer  to  whom  I  would  soonest  compare  him,  as  a 
writer  of  prose,  is  his  favorite  Lucian.  As  a  poet,  he 
seems  to  me  to  resemble  Ovid  among  the  ancients,  and 
Ariosto  among  the  moderns. 

Wieland  is  not  to  be  ranked  with  the  foremost  poets 
of  his  nation.  No  one  would  think  of  placing  him  by 
the  side  of  Goethe  or  Schiller ;  but  among  poets  of  the 
second  class  he  holds  a  distinguished  position,  and  no 
one  has  more  truly  conceived  or  more  elaborately  de- 
scribed the  qualifications  of  the  poet :  — 

"  Senses  so  sharply  tuned  that  the  slightest  breath  of  Nature 
causes  the  entire  organ  of  the  soul  to  vibrate  like  an  asolian  harp, 
and  every  sensation  to  give  back  with  heightened  beauty  and  the 
purest  accord  the  melody  of  things  ;  a  memory  in  which  nothing 
is  lost,  but  everything  imperceptibly  coalesces  into  that  fine,  plas- 
tic, half  spiritual  substance  from  which  fancy  breathes  forth  its 
own  new  and  magical  creations  ;  an  imagination  which  by  an 
inward,  involuntary  impulse,  idealizes  each  individual  object, 
clothes  abstractions  in  definite  forms,  .  .  .  which  bodies  forth 
all  that  is  spiritual,  and  spiritualizes  and  ennobles  all  that  is 
material  ;  a  warm,  tender  soul,  which  kindles  at  every  breath, 
all  nerve,  sensation,  and  sympathy,  —  which  can  imagine  nothing 
dead,  nothing  unfeeling  in  Nature,  but  is  ever  ready  to  impart 
its  own  excess  of  life,  of  feeling  and  passion  to  all  about  it,  to 
metamorphose  ever  with  the  greatest  ease  and  rapidity  itself  into 
others  and  others  into  itself;  a  passionate  love  for  the  wonder- 


216  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ful,  the  beautiful,  and  the  sublime  in  the  material  and  the  moral 
world ;  a  heart  which  beats  high  at  every  noble  deed,  and 
shrinks  with  horror  from  everything  base,  cowardly,  unfeeling. 
Add  to  all  this  a  cheerful  temperament,  quick  circulations,  —  add 
also  an  inborn  propensity  to  reflect,  to  search  within,  to  rove  in 
an  ideal  world,  and,  together  with  a  social  disposition  and  deli- 
cate sympathy,  an  ever  predominant  love  for  solitude,  for  the 
silence  of  the  forest,  for  all  that  disengages  the  soul  from  the 
burdens  by  which  it  is  hampered  in  its  own  free  flight,  or  that 
rescues  it  from  the  distractions  which  interrupt  its  pursuits." 

The  judgments  pronounced  on  the  merits  of  Wieland 
and  the  tendency  of  his  writings  by  some  of  the  more 
prominent  historians  of  German  literature  have  not  been 
favorable,  although  it  is  conceded  that  he  exercised  an 
important  influence  on  the  literary  action  of  his  time. 
The  criticism  of  Gervinus  on  "  Agathon  "  I  have  already 
quoted.  Yilmar,  who  is  even  more  patriotic  and  anti- 
gallican,  declares  Wieland  to  have  been  "  the  represent- 
ative in  Germany  of  the  age  of  Louis  XY.,"  of  that  kind 
of  culture  which,  "  indifferent  to  everything  higher, 
concerned  itself  only  with  the  cheerful  enjoyment  of 
life,  the  culture  of  sensualism,  of  frivolity.  To  show," 
he  adds,  "  that  there  are  no  ideals,  that  there  is  noth- 
ing great,  worthy,  or  noble,  is  the  everywhere  plainly 
discernible  and  often  even  expressly  affirmed  aim  of 
Wieland's  poetry.  It  is  the  practical  materialism  im- 
ported to  us  from  Yoltaire,  La  Mettrie,  Diderot,  and 
the  so-called  Encyclopaedists  ;  the  popular  philosophy 
of  the  man  of  pleasure,  with  whom  all  wisdom  con- 
sists in  the  most  prudent  and  complete  exploitation  of 
sensual  enjoyment,  and  all  morality  in  the  doctrine 
'  live  and  let  live,'  in  the  most  refined  egoism."  He 
continues  :  — 


WIELAND.  217 

"  When  this  Frenchified  world  and  its  loose,  frivolous  tone 
declined  with  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  and  in  the 
course  of  its  second  decennium  vanished  altogether,  then  the 
relish  for  Wieland's  poems  also  declined,  and  in  the  third  decen- 
nium (1820-1830)  not  only  entirely  disappeared,  but  gave  place 
to  a  not  unjustifiable  repugnance;  so  that  they  are  now  forgotten, 
are  no  more  read,  and  with  few  exceptions  deserve  not  to  be 
read.  ...  If  the  poet  is  he  who  unlocks  the  deeps  of  the  hu- 
man heart,  who  knows  how  to  represent  and  to  elicit  the  deepest 
sorrow  and  the  highest  joy,  who  shows  in  the  changing  images 
of  this  transitory  life  the  deep  seriousness  of  the  permanent  and 
eternal,  who  truly  feels  and  teaches  us  to  feel  truly,  then  we 
must  altogether  deny  to  Wieland  the  predicate  of  poet  in  the 
proper  and  higher  sense." 

This  criticism  strikes  me  as  unduly  hard  and  one- 
sided. If  it  does  not  exaggerate  the  vice  of  a  consider- 
able portion  of  Wieland's  writings,  it  errs  in  imputing 
to  all  his  works  what  is  true  only  of  a  part ;  and  it  over- 
looks his  real  merits,  the  grace  of  his  style  (especially  as 
a  prosaist),  the  fascinating  play  of  his  fancy,  and  his 
genial  humor.  Because  he  is  not  an  idealist,  because  he 
is  not  characteristically  and  peculiarly  German,  it  would 
make  him  out  to  be  nothing.  In  spite  of  all  such  strict- 
ures, "  Oberon,"  if  not  so  much  read,  or  with  the  same 
enthusiasm  as  it  was  on  its  first  appearance  (and  what 
poem  of  a  past  century  is  ?),  will  always  be  regarded  by 
impartial  critics  as  a  poem  of  rare  beauty  ;  and  Wieland's 
prose  will  always  remain  a  model  in  its  kind.  Still,  it 
must  be  confessed,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,^  that  "  his 
excellence  lies  rather  in  the  manner  than  the  matter. 
He  is  more  graceful  than  energetic,  more  agreeable  than 
impressive,  more  sportive  than  profound.     '  Words  that 

1  Prose  Writers  of  Germany,  p.  128. 


218  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

burn '  are  not  found  on  his  page,  nor  thoughts  that  make 
one  close  the  book  and  ponder  and  rise  up  intellectually 
new-born  from  the  reading.  But  then  he  has  charms  of 
manner  that  lure  the  reader  on  and  hold  him  fast.  And 
when  I  speak  of  him  as  not  profound,  I  speak  in  refer- 
ence to  German  standards.  Unlike  the  generality  of  his 
countrymen,  he  occupied  himself  rather  with  the  shows 
of  things  than  their  substance,  with  phenomena  rather 
than  with  laws.  He  loved  to  discourse  pleasantly  rather 
than  to  investigate  conscientiously,  or  to  settle  precisely. 
As  Goethe  says,  he  cared  less  for  a  firm  footing  than  a 
clever  debate." 

I  give  in  Sotheby's  translation  an  extract  from  the 
"  Oberon."  The  version,  though  not  the  best  that  can 
be  imagined,  is  spirited  and  tolerably  faithful,  and  is  said 
to  have  been  highly  commended  by  Wieland  himself. 

The  passage  I  quote  is  from  the  second  canto,  where 
Sir  Huon,  on  his  mission  to  Bagdad,  accompanied  by  his 
faithful  squire  Scherasmin,  finds  himself  as  day  declines 
in  a  wood,  which  Scherasmin  knows  to  be  the  residence 
of  Oberon  the  fairy  king.  The  squire,  overwhelmed  by 
superstitious  fear,  attempts  in  vain  to  fly,  and  to  persuade 
the  knight  to  fly.  Overtaken  with  a  tempest,  they  are 
suddenly  brought  up  by  a  procession  of  monks  and  nuns, 
who  have  been  celebrating  Saint  Agatha's  day.  Oberon 
appears  and  winds  his  magic  horn,  which  compels  the 
whole  company,  with  the  exception  of  Sir  Huon,  who 
alone  is  wholly  guiltless,  and  therefore  not  subject  to  the 
spell,  to  whirl  in  dance :  — 

**  Now  on  they  journey  till  the  daylight  dies, 
And  slowly  sinks  to  evening's  glimmer  gray. 
Before  their  course  a  gloomy  forest  lay. 


WIELAND.  219 

*  Tempt  not  that  dangerous  path,  Sir  Knight!     'Tis  said 

That  none  who  enter  there  return  again. 

You  smile,  and  deem,  I  see,  my  caution  vain. 
Yet  trust  me,  Sir,  beneath  that  haunted  shade 

A  tiny,  wicked  goblin  holds  his  court. 

There  foxes,  harts,  and  deer  alone  resort. 

Who  once  were  men  like  us,  in  form  the  same. 

Heaven  knows  in  what  wild  skin  our  human  frame 
Shall  be  ere  dawn  arrayed,  to  make  the  demon  sport.' 

Meanwhile  the  wandering  travellers  onward  go 
Unwares  within  the  circuit  of  a  wood, 
Whose  mazy  windings,  at  each  step  renewed, 

In  many  a  serpent-fold  twined  to  and  fro. 
So  that  our  pair  to  lose  themselves  were  fain. 
The  moon  full-orbed  now  gained  the  ethereal  plain, 
And  as  her  beams  through  wavy  branches  played. 
The  twinkling  fairy  dance  of  light  and  shade 

Confused  their  wildered  eyes,  that  sought  the  path  in  vain. 

*  Sir,'  Scherasmin  exclaimed,  *  amid  the  maze 

Of  this  deep  labyrinth,  perplexing  art, 

To  puzzle  wanderers,  well  has  played  her  part. 

The  only  chance  to  'scape  these  crooked  ways 
Is  for  good  luck  to  follow  —  one's  own  nose.* 
This  counsel  (wiser  than  the  learn'd  suppose) 
Ere  long  conducts  them  to  that  middle  space 
Where  all  the  walks  that  wind  from  place  to  place 

At  once  with  circling  rays  a  central  star  enclose. 

And  while  they  gazed  around  in  mute  despair, 

'Mid  the  wild  woods  a  distant  castle  gleams; 

As  woven  from  the  evening's  rosy  beams 
It  lifts  itself  and  glitters  in  the  air. 

In  Huon's  mind  delight  and  terror  stole. 

In  doubt  if  truth  or  fancy  charm  his  soul. 

Breathless  he  moves,  as  drawn  by  magic  hand, 

And  sees  the  castle's  golden  gates  expand. 
And  forth  a  silver  car  drawn  on  by  leopards  roll, 

A  boy  more  beauteous  than  the  God  of  love, 
In  smiling  Cytherea's  soft  embrace, 


220  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Sat  in  the  silver  car  with  heavenly  grace, 
And  held  the  silken  reins  and  onward  drove. 

'  Fly,'  Scherasmin  exclaims,  '  he  comes!  we're  dead  I  '* 
And  seized  Sir  Huon's  steed  and  swiftly  fled. 
'  You're  lost,  forever  lost,  if  you  delay! ' 
'  How  fair  he  is! '  cries  Huon.     '  Fair?     Away! 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  a  thousand  times  more  dread  J 

A  tempest  winged  with  lightning,  hail,  and  rain 
O'ertakes  our  pair;  around  them  midnight  throws 
Darkness  that  hides  the  world;  it  peals,  cracks,  blows, 

As  if  the  uprooted  globe  would  split  in  twain ; 
The  elements  in  wild  confusion  flung, 
Each  wars  with  each  as  fierce  from  chaos  sprung. 
Yet  heard  from  time  to  time  amid  the  storm 
The  gentle  whisper  of  the  aerial  form 

Breathed  forth  a  lovely  tone  that  died  the  gales  among. 

'  Why  dost  thou  fly?     Thy  happiness  thou  fliest! 
Come  back,  come  Huon!  dare  in  me  confide! 
Hear  me !  to  happiness  thy  path  I  guide ! ' 

Onward  through  thick  and  thin  they  dash  again. 
Beat  by  the  blast  and  flooded  by  the  rain, 
When,  lo!  a  cloister  wall  impedes  their  rash  career. 

A  new  adventure !     On  that  day  befalls 
The  yearly  feast  in  honor  of  the  name 
Of  holy  Agatha,  most  gracious  dame. 

The  guardian  of  these  girl-confining  walls. 
And  there,  not  distant  far,  a  cloister  stood 
Of  youths.  Saint  Antony's  high-pampered  brood. 
That  eve  the  cloister-race  their  choirs  had  joined, 
And  both  a  common  pilgrimage  designed. 

As  nun  and  monk  befits,  in  social  neighborhood. 

Back  they  returned,  and  near  the  cloister  moat, 
On  as  they  wind  in  order  pair  by  pair, 
The  rattling  tempest  thunders  from  the  air ; 

Cross,  standards,  scapularies,  wildly  float, 

Sport  of  the  blasts ;  and  through  each  folded  veil 
In  torrents  stream  the  wind  and  driving  hail. 


WIELAND.  2'21 

All  ranks  and  orders  in  confusion  lost 
Mingle  in  comic  mood  diversely  tossed, 
And  scamper  here  and  there  as  wind  and  rain  assail. 

Here,  as  they  pant  together,  monks  and  nuns, 

Through  the  thronged  convent  gate  that  open  stood, 
'Mid  the  confusion  of  the  cloister  brood 

Now  Scherasmin  with  headlong  fury  runs : 
That  holy  ground  a  haven  he  vainly  deems, 
And  safe  'mid  guardian  saints  himself  esteems. 
Soon  Huon  comes,  and  while  with  courtly  grace 
The  knight  permission  begs,  and  checks  his  pace. 

Swift,  as  a  meteor  darts,  the  dwarf  amid  them  gleams. 

At  once  the  storm  is  fled.     Serenely  mild 

Heaven  smiles  around,  bright  rays  the  sky  adorn. 
While,  beauteous,  as  an  angel  newly-born 

Beams  in  the  roseate  dayspring,  glowed  the  child. 
A  lily  stalk  his  graceful  limbs  sustained. 
Round  his  smooth  neck  an  ivory  horn  was  chained. 
Yet  lovely  as  he  looked,  on  all  around 
Strange  horror  stole,  for  stern  the  fairy  frowned. 

And  o'er  each  saddened  charm  a  sullen  anger  reigned. 

He  to  his  rosy  lip  the  horn  applies. 

And  breathes  enchanting  notes  of  wondrous  sound. 

At  once  then  Scherasmin  in  giddy  round 
Reels  without  stop.     Away  the  old  man  flies, 

Seizes  a  hoary  nun  without  a  tooth, 

Who  dies  to  dance  as  if  the  blood  of  youth 
Boiled  in  her  veins.     The  old  man  deftly  springs. 

Cloister  and  convent  bum  with  equal  rage. 

Nor  hoary  hairs  nor  rank  the  dance  withstand. 

Each  sinner  takes  a  sister  by  the  hand, 
And  in  the  gay  contention  all  engage. 

Not  soon  such  ballets  shall  be  seen  again; 

No  rules  or  discipline  the  choir  restrain. 

Then  at  his  ^  word  relenting  Oberon  waves 
His  lily  wand.     The  charm  dissolves  in  air; 

1  Huon's  intercession. 


222  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

Saint  Antony's  fat  wards  like  statues  stare ; 
And  pale,  as  newly  risen  from  their  graves, 

Haste  the  dishevelled  dames  with  decent  grace 

Their  veils  and  robes  in  order  to  replace. 

But  to  such  capers  Scherasmin  unused 

Feels  with  the  ball  his  whirling  brain  confused, 
And  thinks  his  heart  will  burst,  and  sinks  upon  the  ground." 

The  following  is  from  "  The  Abderites '' :  — 
THE    LAW-SUIT  CONCERNING  THE  ASS'S  SHADOW. 

This  affair,  like  most  of  the  great  events  of  history,  had  its 
origin  in  a  very  trifling  occasion.  A  certain  dentist,  by  the 
name  of  Struthion,  by  birth  and  ancestry  a  Megarensian,  had 
settled  in  Abdera ;  and  being,  as  is  likely,  the  only  one  of  his 
profession  in  the  country,  his  practice  extended  through  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  southern  Thrace.  His  usual  way  to  obtain 
customers  was  to  visit  the  fairs  in  all  the  great  and  little  towns  for 
more  than  thirty  miles  around,  where,  besides  his  tooth-powders 
and  tooth-washes,  he  occasionally  for  a  considerable  profit  sold 
patent-medicines  for  hypochondria,  hysterics,  diseases  of  the 
chest,  and  troublesome  humors.  He  kept  for  these  journeys  a 
stout  ass,  which  on  such  occasions  was  laden  with  his  own  short 
and  thick-set  person,  and  with  saddle-bags  full  of  medicines  and 
provisions.  Now,  it  so  fell  out  that  just  as  he  was  about  to 
visit  the  fair  at  Gerania  his  ass  had  foaled,  and  consequently 
was  not  in  a  condition  to  make  the  journey.  Struthion  there- 
fore hired  another  ass  for  his  first  day's  journey,  the  owner  of 
which  accompanied  him  on  foot,  in  order  to  take  care  of  the 
beast  and  ride  it  back  to  town.  The  road  lay  across  an  exten- 
sive heath.  It  was  in  the  height  of  summer,  and  the  day  was 
excessively  hot.  The  dentist,  who  began  to  find  it  intolerable, 
looked  piningly  about  for  some  shady  spot  where  he  might  dis- 
mount and  obtain  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  But  far  and  wide  there 
was  neither  tree  nor  shrub,  nor  any  object  visible  that  might 
afford  a  shade.  Finally,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  he  halted, 
dismounted,  and  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  ass. 


W IE  LAND.  223 

"  Eh,  Mister,  what  are  you  doiDg  there  ?  "  said  the  owner  of 
the  ass.     "  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  sitting  in  the  shadow  awhile,"  replied  Struthion,  **  for 
the  sun  beats  upon  my  skull  beyond  all  endurance." 

"  No,  no,  my  good  sir,  that  is  not  in  the  bargain.  I  have  let 
you  the  ass,  but  nothing  was  said  about  the  shadow." 

^'  You  are  jesting,  my  friend ;  the  shadow  goes  with  the  ass, 
as  a  matter  of  course  !  " 

"  Hi !  by  Jason,  that  is  not  a  matter  of  course !  "  said  the  ass- 
keeper,  with  a  look  of  defiance.  "  The  ass  is  one  thing ;  the 
ass's  shadow  is  another.  You  have  hired  the  ass  of  me  for  so 
much ;  if  you  wanted  to  hire  the  shadow  besides,  you  should 
have  said  so.  Without  a  word  more,  get  up  and  continue  your 
journey,  or  else  pay  me  a  reasonable  sum  for  the  ass's  shadow  ! " 

"  What !  "  cried  the  dentist.  *'  I  have  paid  for  the  ass,  and 
now  am  I  to  pay  for  the  shadow,  too  ?  Call  me  three  times  an 
ass,  myself,  if  I  do  that.  The  ass  is  for  this  day  mine,  and  I 
will  sit  in  his  shadow  as  often  as  I  please,  and  I  will  continue 
to  sit  in  it  as  long  as  I  please.     That  you  may  depend  upon." 

"  Is  that  your  serious  intention  ?  "  asked  the  other,  with  all 
the  phlegm  of  an  Abderite  ass-driver. 

"  I  am  perfectly  serious,"  replied  Struthion. 

"  Then  my  gentleman  may  come  back  with  me  directly  to 
Abdera,  —  to  a  magistrate.  There  we  will  see  which  of  us  is 
right.  As  Priapus  shall  help  me  and  my  ass,  I  will  see  who 
shall  take  my  ass's  shadow  from  me  against  my  will ! " 

The  dentist  was  greatly  tempted  to  set  the  ass-driver  right  by 
the  strength  of  his  arm.  He  had  already  clenched  his  fist  for 
the  purpose ;  but  when  he  surveyed  his  man  more  closely,  he 
thought  best  to  let  his  uplifted  arm  gradually  fall  again,  and  to 
try  once  more  the  effect  of  milder  arguments.  But  he  only 
wasted  his  breath.  The  rough  fellow  insisted  on  being  paid  for 
the  shadow  of  his  ass ;  and  as  Struthion  was  just  as  determined 
not  to  pay,  there  was  no  other  way  but  to  return  to  Abdera,  and 
to  lay  the  matter  before  the  city  judge. 

The  city  judge,  Philippides,  to  whom  all  disputes  of  this  kind 
had  in  the  first  instance  to  be  referred,  was  a  man  possessed  of 


224  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

many  good  qualities,  —  honest,  sober,  devoted  to  the  work  of 
his  office.  He  listened  to  every  one  with  the  greatest  patience, 
gave  people  friendly  directions,  and  was  universally  reputed  to 
be  incorruptible.  For  the  rest,  he  was  a  good  musician,  made 
collections  of  objects  of  natural  history,  had  written  some  plays, 
—  which,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  city,  had  been  well 
received,  —  and  was  sure,  whenever  a  vacancy  occurred,  to  ob- 
tain the  office  of  nomoph)'lax.  With  all  these  excellences,  the 
good  Philippides  had  but  one  fault ;  and  that  was,  that  when- 
ever two  parties  appeared  before  him,  the  one  who  spoke  last 
always  appeared  to  him  to  be  in  the  right.  The  Abderites  were 
not  so  stupid  as  not  to  have  observed  that ;  but  they  thought 
that  a  man  who  had  so  many  good  qualities  might  be  pardoned 
this  one  fault. 

So,  then,  the  dentist  Struthion  and  the  ass-driver  Anthrax 
rushed,  all  on  fire  as  they  were,  into  the  presence  of  this  worthy 
judge,  and  both  at  once,  with  great  vociferation,  presented  their 
complaint.  He  listened  to  them  with  his  usual  patience ;  and 
when  at  last  they  had  ended,  or  were  tired  of  shouting,  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  thought  the  case  one  of  the  most 
complicated  that  had  ever  been  brought  before  him. 

"  Which  of  you  two,"  he  asked,  "  is,  properly  speaking,  the 
plaintiff  ?  " 

"  I,'*  answered  Struthion ;  "  I  prefer  my  complaint  against 
the  man  of  the  ass  for  having  violated  our  contract." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other,  "  bring  a  complaint  against  the  den- 
tist for  taking,  without  payment,  what  he  had  not  hired  of  me." 

"  So  we  have  two  plaintiffs,"  said  the  judge ;  **  and  who  is  the 
defendant  ?  A  curious  suit !  Relate  to  me  the  whole  case  once 
more ;  but  one  at  a  time,  for  it  is  impossible  to  understand  any- 
thing when  you  are  both  screaming  together." 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,"  said  the  dentist,  "  I  hired  of 
this  man  the  use  of  the  ass  for  the  day.  It  is  true,  nothing  was 
said  about  the  ass's  shadow  ;  but  who  ever  heard  of  inserting  in 
such  a  contract  a  clause  about  shadow  ?  By  Hercules  !  this  is 
not  the  first  ass  that  was  ever  hired  in  Abdera." 


WIELAND.  225 

**  The  gentleman  is  right,  there,"  said  the  judge. 

"The  ass  and  his  shadow  go  together,"  continued  Struthion; 
"  and  why  should  not  one  who  has  hired  the  ass  have  the  usu- 
fruct of  his  shadow  ?  " 

"  The  shadow  is  an  accessorium ;  that  is  clear,"  said  the 
judge. 

"  Honored  Sir,"  cried  the  ass-driver,  **  I  am  a  plain  man.  I 
know  nothing  about  your  oriums  ;  but  this  my  four  senses  tell 
me,  that  I  am  not  bound  to  let  my  ass  stand  in  the  sun  for 
nothing,  in  order  that  another  man  may  seat  himself  in  his 
shadow.  I  let  the  ass  to  this  gentleman,  and  he  paid  me  half 
the  price  in  advance ;  that  I  own.  But  the  ass  is  one  thing ; 
the  shadow  another." 

"  That  is  true,"  muttered  the  judge. 

"  If  he  wants  the  shadow,  let  him  pay  half  the  price  of  the 
ass  itself.  I  demand  nothing  but  what  is  reasonable,  and  I  beg 
you  to  help  me  to  my  rights." 

The  judge  was  sorely  perplexed. 

"  Where  is  the  ass  ?  "  he  finally  asked,  that  being  the  only 
thing  that  occurred  to  him  in  his  anxiety  to  gain  time. 

"  He  is  standing  in  the  street  before  the  door,  your  Honor." 

*'  Bring  him  into  the  court-yard,"  said  Philippides. 

The  owner  of  the  ass  hastened  to  obey  the  order ;  he  consid- 
ered it  a  good  sign  that  the  judge  wanted  to  see  the  principal 
personage  in  the  controversy.  The  ass  was  led  in.  Pity  he 
could  not  express  his  own  opinion  of  the  case  !  But  there  he 
stood,  —  quietly  looked,  with  ears  erect,  first  at  the  two  gentle- 
men, then  at  his  master,  twitched  his  mouth,  let  his  ears  fall 
again,  —  and  said  never  a  word. 

"  There,  see  yourself,  kind  Mr.  Judge ;  is  not  the  shadow 
of  such  a  handsome  stately  a^s  worth  two  drachmas  between 
friends,  especially  on  such  a  hot  day  ?  " 

A  process  regarding  the  shadow  of  an  ass  would  doubtless 
have  attracted  attention  in  any  city  of  the  world  ;  it  may  be  im- 
agined what  a  sensation  it  caused  in  Abdera.     Scarcely  had  the 

15 


226  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

report  of  it  gone  forth,  when  from  that  moment  all  other  topics 
of  social  entertainment  were  abandoned,  and  everybody  dis- 
coursed about  this  suit  with  as  much  interest  as  if  he  had  per- 
sonally a  great  deal  to  gain  or  to  lose  by  it.  Some  declared 
themselves  for  the  dentist,  others  for  the  ass-driver.  Even  the 
ass  himself  had  his  friends,  who  thought  that  he  ought,  by  a 
writ  of  intervemendOf  to  come  in  for  damages,  as  having  suffered 
the  greatest  injury  of  the  three,  by  being  expected  to  stand 
in  the  burning  sun  in  order  that  the  dentist  might  sit  in  his 
shadow.  In  a  word,  said  ass  had  cast  his  shadow  over  all 
Abdera ;  and  the  matter  was  pursued  with  an  animation,  a  zeal, 
an  interest,  which  could  not  have  been  greater  if  the  salvation  of 
the  city  and  the  republic  had  been  at  stake. 

The  names  "  Shadow  "  and  "  Ass  "  began  all  at  once  to  be 
heard  in  Abdera,  and  in  a  short  time  were  universally  employed 
to  designate  the  two  parties. 

And  with  the  acquisition  of  a  name,  the  zeal  on  both  sides 
increased  to  that  extent  that  it  was  no  longer  permitted  to  any 
one  to  be  neutral.  "  Are  you  a  Shadow  or  Ass  ?  "  was  always 
the  first  question  which  citizens  put  to  each  other  when  they 
met  in  the  street  or  in  the  tavern.  And  if  it  happened  to  a 
Shadow,  in  one  of  these  places,  to  be  the  only  one  of  his  party 
among  a  number  of  Asses,  he  must  either  betake  himself  to 
flight  or  apostatize  on  the  spot ;  or  else,  with  vigorous  kicks,  to 
be  turned  out  of  doors.  .  .  .  The  mutual  bitterness  soon  reached 
that  degree  that  a  Shadow  would  rather  starve  into  a  real  ghost 
than  purchase  a  three-pence  worth  of  bread  from  a  baker  of  the 
opposite  party. 

The  women,  too,  as  may  be  supposed,  took  sides,  and  you 
may  be  sure  with  not  less  heat.  Indeed,  the  first  blood  shed 
in  this  strange  civil  war  came  from  the  nails  of  two  huckster 
women,  who  had  pitched  into  each  other's  physiognomy  in  the 
public  square.  It  was  remarked,  that  by  far  the  larger  number 
of  the  Abderitesses  took  the  side  of  Anthrax ;  and  where,  in 
any  house,  the  husband  was  a  Shadow,  one  might  be  sure  that 


WIELAND.  227 

the  wife  was  an  Ass,  and  usually  as  passionate  and  indomitable 
a  she-ass  as  one  can  imagine. 

Among  a  number  of  other  partly  baleful,  partly  ridiculous 
consequences  of  this  party  spirit,  which  took  possession  of  the 
Abderite  women,  it  was  not  one  of  the  least  that  many  a  love 
affair  was  suddenly  broken  off,  because  the  Seladon  would 
rather  renounce  his  claims  on  the  beloved  than  give  up  his 
party ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  many  a  one  who  for  years  had 
been  suing  for  the  favor  of  some  fair  one,  and  had  not  suc- 
ceeded in  overcoming  her  antipathy  by  any  of  the  measures  to 
which  lovers  usually  resort  in  such  cases,  now,  of  a  sudden, 
found  that  he  needed  no  other  title  to  the  happiness  to  which 
he  aspired  than  to  satisfy  his  lady  that  he  was  —  an  Ass. 


228  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

HERDER. 

THE  literature  of  a  nation  has  been  often  fructified 
by  writers  who  have  produced  no  complete  work 
which  can  be  regarded  as  a  measure  and  interpreter  of 
their  genius,  —  writers  who  have  swayed  the  mind  of 
their  time  by  pregnant  hints,  by  luminous  suggestions, 
by  discovery  of  hidden  or  neglected  treasures,  by  open- 
ing new  views,  by  research  and  illustration,  rather 
than  by  original  works  of  literary  art.  Such  was  Cole- 
ridge in  English  literature ;  such  were  the  Schlegels  in 
Germany  ;  and  —  greater  than  Coleridge  or  the  Schle- 
gels —  such  was  Johann  Gottfried  Herder,  a  man  of 
intellectually  colossal  proportions,  who  wrote  on  nearly 
every  topic  of  literature  and  art,  and  touched  no  subject 
which  he  did  not  illumine,  but  who  in  all  his  volumi- 
nous writings  produced  no  one  great  masterpiece  —  no 
finished  whole  —  which  may  be  regarded  as  a  worthy 
monument  of  such  a  mind  and  such  a  life.  Even  his 
principal  work,  and  that  by  which  he  is  best  known 
abroad,  —  his  "  Philosophy  of  History,"  —  is  not  a  sys- 
tematic treatise,  but  a  collection  of  materials,  as  the 
name  imports,  "  Ideen  zur  Philosophic  der  Geschichte 
der  Menschheit."  Yet  no  one,  not  even  Lessing,  did 
more  to  raise  the  literature  of  his  country,  and  to 
stimulate  the  national  mind.     What  Lessing  initiated 


HERDER.  229 

by  negative  methods,  —  by  demonstrative  criticism,  by 
checking  false  tendencies,  by  emancipating  his  country- 
men from  enslavement  to  mistaken  ideals,  from  the 
tyranny  of  foreign  rules,  from  the  worship  of  strange 
gods,  —  Herder  seconded  and  advanced  by  diffusion  of 
positive  ideas,  by  his  unprovincialism,  his  cosmopolitan 
breadth  ;  by  bringing  the  literatures,  not  of  classical 
Europe  only,  but  of  all  nations,  civilized  and  savage, 
into  view ;  especially  by  directing  attention  to  the  pri- 
mal fountains  of  song,  to  the  poetry  of  the  people,  — 
Volkspoesie,  —  as  distinguished  from  that  which  is  intel- 
lectual and  artificial. 

Lessing's  i"nfluence  was  that  of  critical  authority :  he 
saw  everything  in  the  dry  light  of  the  understanding  ; 
his  judgments  were  based  on  rule  and  measure.  In 
Herder's  aesthetic  there  mingled  sentiment,  the  loving 
thought,  the  moral  sympathy  with  which  his  catholic 
heart  embraced  the  most  diverse  and  even  contradictory 
in  literature,  —  the  Oriental,  the  classic,  the  romantic, 
Greek,  and  mediaeval  song.  His  influence  was  due  not 
so  much  to  accredited  judgment  as  it  was  to  admiring 
advocacy  and  prophetic  enthusiasm. 

The  circumstances  of  his  nativity  and  childhood  were 
such  as  are  commonly  supposed  to  be  more  conducive 
to  moral  growth  and  the  formation  of  a  manly  character 
than  to  intellectual  development. 

The  father,  sexton  of  the  parish  church,  and  teacher 
of  a  primary  school  for  girls  in  the  little  town  of  Moh- 
rungen,  in  East  Prussia,  where  Herder  was  born  in 
1744,  was  too  poor  to  aid  his  son  in  the  way  of  a  liberal 
education.  But  he  inspired  in  him  his  own  exact  sense 
of  duty  and  order,  his  persevering  industry,  his  incor- 
ruptible integrity,  his  awful  reverence.     The  domestic 


230  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

economy  was  pinched  to  the  verge  of  want ;  but  penury- 
does  not  always  freeze  the  current  of  the  soul.  In  young 
Herder  the  strength  of  the  current  defied  the  frost ; 
wealth  of  native  endowment  compensated  the  stern  pri- 
vations of  the  house. 

The  rector  of  the  city  school,  whose  name  was  Grimm, 
and  whose  discipline  answered  to  the  name,  laid  deep 
and  strong  in  the  boyish  mind  the  foundations  on  which 
in  riper  years  was  reared  the  solid  and  vast  structure 
of  Herder's  learning,  enforcing  with  inexorable  strict- 
ness the  knowledge  of  grammatical  rules,  and  dwelling 
on  every  lesson  until  all  that  could  be  wrung  from  it 
had  been  thoroughly  appropriated  by  the  memory  and 
the  understanding.  To  his  best  scholars  —  of  whom 
young  Gottfried  was  one  —  he  was  so  far  indulgent 
that  he  took  them  with  him  in  his  walks,  and  made 
them  hunt  for  the  herbs  which  furnished  his  daily  tea. 
On  rare  occasions  he  would  even  bestow  on  them  a 
cup  of  the  tea  itself,  with  a  minute  portion  of  sugar. 
This  was  a  distinction  never  to  be  forgotten  ;  and 
Herder  did  not  forget  it  when  adverting,  in  conversa- 
tion with  friends,  to  the  scenes  and  events  of  his  boy- 
hood. To  native  shyness  and  timidity,  confirmed  by  the 
discipline  of  the  school,  he  added  extreme  sensibility. 
He  speaks  of  being  moved  to  tears  when,  as  a  school- 
boy, he  read  Homer's  comparison  of  the  generations  of 
men  to  the  leaves  of  a  season.^  The  passage  is  a 
beautiful  one,  but  probably  no  school-boy  before  or  since 
was  ever  affected  by  it  in  that  way.  His  love  of  knowl- 
edge was  insatiable,  but  poverty  precluded  the  coveted 
supply  of  books.  Borowski  relates  that  when  in  his 
walks   through  the   streets  he   saw  one  lying  in  the 

1  Iliad,  vi.  146. 


HERDER.  231 

window  of  any  house,  he  would  knock  at  the  door  and 
request  the  loan  of  it. 

There  came  to  Mohrungen  a  clergyman  by  the  name 
of  Trescho,  who,  perceiving  in  Herder  a  youth  of  un- 
common promise,  took  him  into  his  house  in  the  capac- 
ity of  famulus^  —  a  relation  involving  professional  aid, 
but  requiring  no  menial  service.  The  advantage  to 
Herder  of  this  position  was  the  use  of  Trescho's  well- 
stocked  library,  which  was  granted  to  him  without  stint. 
One  night,  when  the  youth  had  retired  to  his  room  with 
a  lighted  candle  and  an  armful  of  books,  the  master, 
careful  before  going  to  bed  himself  to  ascertain  if  the 
candle  were  duly  extinguished,  found  the  floor  strewn 
with  books,  some  of  which  were  lying  open,  young 
Herder  in  the  midst  of  them  fast  asleep,  and  the  can- 
dle burning.  The  books  were  mostly  Latin  and  Greek 
classics.  On  being  reproved  the  next  morning  for  his 
carelessness,  and  questioned  if  he  could  make  use  of 
such  books,  he  answered,  modestly,  "  I  am  endeavoring 
to  understand  them."  "  Then,"  says  Trescho,  "  I  discov- 
ered that,  instead  of  a  Mohrungen  school-boy,  I  had  before 
me  a  man  who  must  be  transplanted  to  quite  another 
school  for  the  development  of  his  great  mind,  unless 
a  species  of  intellectual  murder  were  to  be  perpetrated 
upon  him,  and  a  life,  which  appeared  to  have  been  cre- 
ated for  great  ends,  extinguished  with  its  first  breath." 

It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  Trescho  contributed 
in  any  way  to  promote  this  transplanting.  The  youth 
seemed  doomed,  with  all  his  aspirations,  and  in  spite 
of  these  and  other  indications  of  a  literary  calling,  to 
forego  the  advantages  of  a  thorough  intellectual  training, 
and  even  perhaps  to  earn  his  bread  by  mechanical  labor, 
when  —  by  a  turn  of  fortune  which  Herder  afterward 


232  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

regarded  as  a  part  of  that  special  Providence  which  at 
several  points  in  his  history  he  believed  had  interposed 
in  his  behalf  —  he  attracted  the  notice  of  an  army  sur- 
geon belonging  to  a  regiment  stationed  at  Mohrungen 
on  its  return  from  the  Seven  Years'  War.  This  officer 
proposed  to  take  him  to  Konigsberg,  and  to  furnish  him 
with  the  means  of  studying  surgery  ;  in  return  for  which 
young  Herder  was  to  translate  a  medical  treatise,  the 
work  of  his  patron,  into  Latin.  To  Konigsberg  he  went, 
and  the  medical  treatise  was  translated  into  excellent 
Latin ;  but  the  plan  of  a  surgical  profession  was  frus- 
trated by  an  invincible  repugnance  contracted  in  the 
dissecting-room,  where,  on  his  first  visit,  he  fainted 
away.  Never  after  could  he  even  bear  to  hear  of  a  sur- 
gical operation.  His  position  was  embarrassing.  Only 
as  a  student  of  medicine  could  he  look  for  support ;  but 
to  return  to  Mohrungen  would  have  been  a  confession 
of  weakness  and  defeat.  With  some  slight  help  from 
home,  with  encouragement  from  friends  in  Konigsberg, 
and  the  hope  of  being  able  to  earn  a  little  by  literary 
work,  he  determined  to  remain  and  to  study  theology, 
which  had  always  been  his  preference  among  the  learned 
professions.  In  vain  his  would-be  patron  represented  to 
him  that  as  a  physician,  especially  in  St.  Petersburg,  — 
whither  he  ought  to  go,  —  he  might  make  his  fortune, 
whereas  the  life  of  a  Prussian  clergyman  was  one  of 
perpetual  struggle  and  privation.  As  a  theologian  he 
had  himself  inscribed ;  and  as  such,  after  a  satisfactory 
examination,  he  was  matriculated  in  the  University  of 
Konigsberg.  It  was  a  good  fight  which  the  brave  young 
student  fought  with  extreme  poverty  in  the  earlier  por- 
tion of  his  academic  life,  —  bare  bread,  and  not  too 
much  of  that,  being  often  his  only  diet.     Later,  he  ob- 


HERDER.  233 

tained  the  post  of  teacher  in  the  Collegium  Fredericia- 
num,  and  from  that  time  forth  the  pressure  of  want  was 
removed. 

At  the  University  he  heard,  among  other  celebrities, 
the  illustrious  Kant,  for  whom,  he  entertained  the  rever- 
ence due  to  the  foremost  mind  of  his  time.  But  the 
nihilism  of  the  Critical  Philosophy  did  not  accord  with 
Herder's  affirmative  spirit  and  his  craving  for  positive 
convictions.  So  far  from  being  a  disciple  of  that  phi- 
losophy, he  became  in  after  years  its  active  opponent, 
assailing  its  fundamental  principles  in  an  essay  which 
he  entitled  "  Metakritik  zur  Kritik  der  reinen  Vernunft." 
The  strongest  influence  he  experienced  in  Konigsberg 
was  exercised  by  John  George  Hamann,  a  writer  of  note, 
by  reason  of  his  oracular  utterances  styled  "  The  Magi- 
cian of  the  North,"  —  a  man  whom  many  of  his  contem- 
poraries extol,  and  to  whom  even  Goethe  ascribes  extra- 
ordinary merit.  The  reputation  which  Hamann  enjoyed 
in  his  own  day  is  not  justified  to  the  present  generation 
by  his  published  writings,  which  have  passed  into  general 
neglect.  But  a  man  of  extraordinary  intellect  he  must 
have  been  to  have  so  impressed  the  best  minds  of  his 
time.  I  suppose  the  influence  he  exerted  on  such  was 
due  to  certain  hints  and  suggestions  anticipating  the 
thought  and  literary  bias  of  the  coming  age,  which 
others  wrought  out,  rather  than  to  any  finished  or  really 
valuable  performance  of  his  own.  Then,  too,  a  universal 
censor  —  and  such  Hamann  appears  to  have  been  — is 
apt  to  get  credit  for  powers  he  does  not  possess.  He 
who  blames  the  doings  of  others  must,  it  is  thought,  be 
able,  if  he  chose,  to  do  better  himself,  —  a  natural  l^ut 
very  mistaken  conclusion.  Goethe,  speaking  of  his  own 
experience  of  the  man,  says  :  — 


234  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"  He  was  as  much  a  riddle  to  us  then  as  he  has  always  been 
to  his  country.  His  *  Sokratische  Denkwiirdigkeiten  '  excited 
attention,  and  were  especially  welcome  to  those  who  could  not 
reconcile  themselves  with  the  dazzling  spirit  of  the  time.  They 
led  one  to  surmise  a  deep-thinking,  thorough  man,  who,  being 
well  acquainted  with  the  visible  world  and  literature,  recognized 
at  the  same  time  something  secret,  unfathomable,  and  had  his 
own  peculiar  way  of  talking  about  it.  .  .  .  In  his  endeavor  to 
effect  the  impossible,  he  grasps  after  all  the  elements,  —  the 
deepest,  most  secret  intuitions,  where  nature  and  mind  encounter 
each  other,  luminous  flashes  of  intelligence  which  gleam  from 
such  encounter,  significant  images  which  float  in  those  regions, 
impressive  sayings  of  sacred  and  profane  writers,  with  all  sorts 
of  humorous  additions.  These  together  constitute  the  wondrous 
whole  of  his  communications.  When  we  find  that  we  cannot 
join  him  in  the  deeps,  nor  walk  with  him  on  the  heights  ;  that 
we  cannot  possess  ourselves  of  the  images  which  hover  before 
his  mind,  and  in  an  endless  stretch  of  literature  cannot  make  out 
the  sense  of  a  mere  intimation,  —  it  grows  thicker  and  darker 
about  us  the  more  we  study  him  ;  and  this  darkness  will  in- 
crease with  future  years,  because  his  allusions  were  especially 
directed  to  certain  momentarily  dominant  peculiarities  in  litera- 
ture and  life." 


So  Goethe  prophesied,  and  so  it  has  come  to  pass ; 
and  Hamann  is  left  to  perish  in  the  obscurity  in  which 
while  living  he  chose  to  dwell.  Gervinus,  a  less  friendly 
critic,  speaks  of  him  as  starting  a  hundred  important 
and  unimportant  questions  without  contributing  in  the 
least  to  their  solution,  except  by  showing  how  little  oth- 
ers had  contributed  ;  "  always  reserved,  because  equally 
conscious  of  his  superiority  and  his  weakness,  and  be- 
cause, being  a  man  of  extremes,  he  would  rather  be 
nothing  if  he  could  not  be  everything ;  always  abound- 
ing in  scattered  thoughts  and  suggestions,  which  often, 


HERDER.  235 

like  lightning,  gave  forth  a  dazzling  light,  never  clear- 
ness and  warmth ;  sometimes  even  a  delusive  gleam,  like 
that  of  will-of-the-wisps.  He  is  the  real  negative  princi- 
ple opposed  to  our  elder  literature;  .  .  .  his  writings 
are  thrown  into  the  nation  like  yeast,  not  food  in  them- 
selves, but  producing  on  the  whole  a  needful  ferment." 
Certain  it  is  that  Herder  was  indebted  to  him  as  to  no 
one  else  for  the  earlier  tone  and  the  general  direction  of 
his  literary  labors.  From  Hamann  he  derived  the  im- 
pulse which  led  him  to  the  study,  and  created  in  him 
the  love,  of  Oriental,  especially  of  Hebrew,  literature. 
From  Hamann  he  derived  his  taste  for  parables  and 
paramyths ;  from  Hamann  his  life-long  interest  in  the 
Volkspoesie--i\\Q  peoples'  poetry  — of  all  nations,  which 
he  manifested  by  diligent  researches  in  that  direction, 
and  by  translations  from  various  languages.  Hamann 
taught  him  English  ;  they  read  "  Hamlet  "  together, 
which  Herder  knew  almost  by  heart. 

In  1764,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  he  received  and  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  the  double  office  of  preacher  and 
assistant  teacher  of  the  Cathedral  school  in  the  city  of 
Riga,  in  Russia,  —  a  Livonian  city,  inhabited  chiefly  by 
Germans  of  the  Lutheran  faith.  Here  he  spent  five  of 
the  most  important  and  happiest  years  of  his  life,  made 
many  life-long  friends,  and  wrote  his  "  Kritische  Wal- 
der,"  and  his  "  Fragmente  zur  deutschen  Literatur." 
An  urgent  desire  to  see  more  of  the  world  before  setting 
himself  fairly  to  his  life's  work,  induced  him  to  resign 
his  office.  In  1769  he  went  to  France,  where  he  re- 
mained long  enough  to  acquire  the  command  of  the 
French  language,  intending  afterward  to  visit  other  por- 
tions of  Europe,  and  to  make  himself  acquainted  with 
the  best  educational  establishments  abroad,  with  a  view 


236  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

to  found,  on  his  return,  with  the  assistance  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, a  model  school  at  Riga.  In  Paris  he  became 
acquainted  with  d'Alembert,  with  Arnauld,  with  Dide- 
rot, and  other  distinguished  men  of  the  time. 

While  in  Paris  he  received  from  Denmark  an  invita- 
tion to  accompany,  as  teacher,  the  young  prince  of  Hol- 
stein-Eutin  on  his  travels.  The  appointment  was  to 
cover  the  term  of  three  years,  and  the  prince's  tutor, 
Herr  von  Kappelmann,  was  to  be  one  of  the  party. 
With  much  hesitation.  Herder  finally  accepted  the  office. 
It  obliged  him  to  abandon  his  scheme  of  a  high-school  at 
Riga,  but  on  the  other  hand  presented  an  opportunity 
which  might  never  be  repeated  of  foreign  travel.  He 
was  expected  to  preach  for  the  benefit  of  the  prince  in 
places  where  there  was  no  evangelical  church  ;  to  repeat 
with  him  the  substance  of  the  lectures  he  might  attend 
in  the  universities  he  should  visit;  to  read  with  him 
the  Latin  classics,  and  to  aid  him  in  forming  a  good 
German  style.  For  this  he  was  to  receive,  in  addition 
to  his  travelling  expenses,  an  annual  stipend  of  three 
hundred  thalers,  and  to  be  considered  a  candidate  for 
the  next  vacant  office  of  preacher,  or  of  professor  at 
the  University  of  Kiel,  at  the  expiration  of  the  three 
years.  By  the  advice  of  Resewitz,  who  communicated 
the  proposal.  Herder  stipulated  for  an  additional  one 
hundred  thalers  for  the  defraying  of  his  travelling  ex- 
penses to  Eutin,  where  he  was  to  meet  his  charge,  and 
for  continued  support  after  their  travels,  until  he  should 
receive  the  promised  office.  When  these  terms  were 
settled,  he  left  France  and  proceeded  to  Belgium,  where, 
after  inspecting  the  principal  works  of  art  in  Brussels 
and  Antwerp,  he  set  sail  from  the  latter  place  for  Am- 
sterdam, and  barely  escaped  death  by  shipwreck  on  the 


HERDER,  237 

passage.  In  a  dark  night  the  vessel  struck  a  sand-bank 
on  the  coast  of  Holland,  not  far  from  the  Hague,  and 
there  stuck  fast.  Signal-guns  were  fired  all  night,  and 
in  the  morning  fishermen  came  to  the  rescue  with  their 
boats.  With  difficulty,  through  a  heavy  sea,  they  brought 
off  the  passengers  and  the  crew,  amid  storm  and  surf,  to 
the  nearest  shore.  They  had  scarcely  landed,  when  the 
vessel  went  to  pieces  before  their  eyes.  Herder,  who  in 
those  years  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  Ossian,  occupied 
these  hours  of  terror  with  the  songs  of  the  storm- 
breathing  bard.  In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  inserted  in  his 
essay  entitled  "  Ossian  and  the  Songs  of  Ancient  Peo- 
ples," he  wrote  :  — 

"  I  read  Ossian  in  situations  where  few  others  have  read  him. 
You  know  the  adventure  of  my  voyage,  but  you  cannot  imagine 
the  effect  of  such  a  voyage  as  one  feels  it  at  the  time.  ...  To 
hover  between  heaven  and  the  abyss  on  a  plank  on  the  open  all- 
wide  sea,  member  of  a  little  State  governed  by  stricter  laws 
than  the  Republic  of  Lycurgus ;  in  the  midst  of  the  spectacle  of 
a  quite  other  living  and  working  nature,  with  the  songs  of  the 
old  Skalds  in  one's  head,  one's  whole  soul  filled  with  them,  in 
the  very  places  they  commemorate ;  .  .  .  across  the  sands  where 
the  Vikings  with  their  sword  and  their  love  roamed  through  the 
seas  on  '  the  steeds  of  the  earth-girdle '  (their  ships),  past  the 
coasts  where  Fingal's  deeds  were  done  and  Ossian's  songs  of 
sorrow  were  sung,  in  the  same  air,  the  same  world,  the  same 
silence  :  believe  me,  Skalds  and  Bards  read  there  very  differ- 
ently from  the  reading  of  them  at  the  professor's  desk,  —  Homer, 
amid  the  ruins  of  Troy ;  Argonauts,  Odysseys,  and  Lusiads,  by 
swelling  sail  and  rattling  rudder  ;  the  tale  of  '  Uthal  and  Nina- 
thoma,'  in  sight  of  the  island  of  which  it  tells.  .  .  .  The  feeling 
is  still  in  me  of  that  night,  when  on  a  foundering  ship,  no  longer 
moved  by  storm  or  flood,  washed  by  the  sea,  breathed  upon  as 
with  spirits'  breath  by  the  midnight  wind,  I  read  Fingal,  and 
hoped  for  morning." 


238  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

In  Amsterdam  and  Leiden  Herder  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  some  of  the  eminent  scholars  of  the  country  ; 
and  passing  on  from  there  to  Hamburg  he  spent  some 
happy  days  in  company  with  Lessing,  then  a  visitor  in 
that  city,  whom  he  had  long  known  and  admired  as  a 
writer,  and  to  whose  merits  he  afterward  reared  a 
fitting  monument  in  his  *'  Denkmal  Gotthold  Ephraim 
Lessings." 

In  Eutin  he  was  graciously  received  by  the  duke  and 
duchess,  the  parents  of  the  prince  in  whose  education  he 
was  called  to  assist.  For  this  noble  pair  he  entertained 
through  life  a  reverential  and  affectionate  regard.  After 
a  few  months  spent  at  their  court,  he  entered  on  the  jour- 
ney in  which  he  was  to  accompany  the  prince  and  his 
tutor,  and  travelled  with  them  as  far  as  Strasburg. 
But  the  choice  of  the  tutor  had  proved  an  unfortunate 
one,  and  Herder  found  himself  so  much  at  variance  with 
von  Kappelmann  in  his  views  concerning  the  manage- 
ment of  their  charge,  that  he  wrote  to  the  duke  to  be 
released  from  his  engagement.  Seeing  no  other  way  of 
adjusting  the  difficulty,  the  duke  reluctantly  consented 
to  accept  his  resignation ;  and  Herder,  who  had  long 
been  suffering  with  a  troublesome  disease  in  one  of  his 
eyes,  remained  in  Strasburg,  awaiting  the  result  of  an 
operation  from  which  the  occulist  Lobstein  promised  a 
radical  cure.  Meanwhile,  in  Darmstadt,  one  of  the  cities 
in  which  the  party  had  tarried  for  some  weeks  on  their 
route,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  lady  of  rare 
intelligence,  Mary  Caroline  Flachsman,  his  future  wife. 
That  the  attraction  on  his  part  was  fully  reciprocated  on 
hers  appears  from  her  own  enthusiastic  confession :  — 

"  On  the  19th  of  August,  Herder  preached  in  the  Castle 
Church.     I  heard  the  voice  of  an  angel  and  words  of  the  soul 


HERDER,  239 

such  as  I  had  never  heard  before.  I  cannot  describe  the  pecu- 
liar, unique  impression  which  I  then  experienced  for  the  first 
time.  A  messenger  from  heaven  stood  before  me  in  human 
form.  In  the  afternoon  I  saw  him  and  stammered  my  thanks. 
From  this  time  forth  our  souls  were  one,  and  are  one.  Our 
finding  each  other  was  the  work  of  God.  A  more  perfect  un- 
derstanding, a  more  intimate  relation,  between  two  souls  there 
cannot  be." 

In  Strasburg  Herder  spent  unhappy  months  in  close 
confinement  in  the  hands  of  the  physician  to  whom  he 
had  intrusted  the  care  and  cure  of  his  eye.  Repeated 
operations,  attended  with  great  pain,  which  he  bore  with 
heroic  fortitude,  proved  unsuccessful ;  the  disease,  which 
consisted  in  a  stoppage  of  the  lachrymal  duct,  was  aggra- 
vated rather  than  relieved  by  unskilful  treatment ;  time 
and  money  had  been  spent  in  vain ;  his  sight  was  not 
impaired,  but  a  life-long  blemish  disfigured  his  otherwise 
noble  countenance.  His  only  gain  from  the  weary  six 
months  of  this  trial  was  a  personal  acquaintance  with 
Goethe,  then  a  student  of  law  at  Strasburg,  who  was 
often,  as  Herder  wrote  to  his  betrothed,  his  only  visi- 
tor, and  whose  goodness  of  heart  the  sufferer  warmly 
commends. 

We  find  him  next,  by  invitation  of  Count  Wilhelm 
of  Schaumburg-Lippe,  in  1770,  established  at  Biicke- 
burg  on  the  Weser  as  court  preacher  and  primate  of 
that  little  principality.  During  the  five  years  of  his 
residence  there  he  wrote  some  of  his  most  important 
works  ;  among  others  his  "  Earliest  Records  of  the 
Human  Race,"  and  the  first  part  of  his  "  Ideas  for 
a  Philosophy  of  History  ; "  and  thither,  in  1773,  he 
brought  from  Darmstadt  the  accomplished  bride  who 
more    and   more  brightened  his   earthly  lot,  and  than 


240  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

whom,  it  is  likely,  no  literary  man  had  ever  a  truer 
helpmate. 

In  1776  there  came  to  him  from  the  Hanoverian 
government  a  call  to  the  office  of  fourth  Professor  of 
Theology  and  University  preacher  in  the  University  of 
Gottingen.  For  that  University  he  had  always  enter- 
tained a  strong  predilection,  and  had  coveted  a  position 
on  its  staff  of  instruction  ;  but  the  call  was  burdened 
with  conditions  which  made  him  hesitate.  Not  having 
received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Theology,  he  must  sub- 
mit to  an  examination  and  give  proof  of  his  orthodoxy. 
While  debating  with  himself  the  acceptance  of  these 
terms  he  received,  through  the  mediation  of  Goethe,  an 
invitation  from  the  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar  to  fill  the 
office  of  Superintendent  of  the  ecclesiastical  department 
of  his  State.  The  office  of  superintendent  in  the  Lutheran 
church  corresponds  to  that  of  bishop  in  the  English. 
To  this  invitation  he  gave  at  once  a  joyful  assent ;  and 
on  the  second  of  October,  1776,  at  the  age  of  thirty-two, 
he  entered  with  his  family  the  little  capital,  the  German 
Athens,  where  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Fitter  position,  if  the  auspices  held  good,  more  com- 
plete adaptation  of  the  man  to  the  place,  had  seldom 
fallen  to  any  scholar's  lot.  In  the  Grand  Duke  he  was 
sure  of  a  wise,  high-minded,  and  generous  patron.  Two 
devoted  and  admiring  patronesses  he  found  in  the  two 
duchesses,  —  the  reigning  duchess,  and  the  duchess  dow- 
ager Amalia.  In  Goethe  he  had  a  stanch  and  efficient 
friend;  in  Wieland,von  Knebel,  Dahlmann,  Einsiedel,and 
many  others,  the  choicest  literary  society  and  intellectual 
fellowship.  But  with  all  these  advantages,  and  all  the 
attractions  of  such  a  community,  his  life  in  Weimar  was 
not  the  elysium  he  expected  to  find  it.     Patronage  and 


HERDER.  241 

friendsllip  he  gratefully  enjoyed ;  but  something  more 
was  demanded  by  an  enterprising  spirit  that  sought 
satisfaction  in  useful  and  beneficent  action.  Society, 
even  of  the  best,  is  but  the  occasional  feast ;  the  staff 
of  life  for  every  man  is  his  daily  work.  And  here  it 
was  that  Herder  found  himself  baffled  and  thwarted  and 
hampered  in  unlooked-for  ways  at  every  turn.  Official 
jealousy,  blind  prejudice,  unreasoning  opposition  to  need- 
ful reform,  collision  with  narrow,  intractable  minds,  de- 
feated his  plans  and  embittered  his  life  ;  and  when  in 
1789  a  second  invitation  to  Gottingen,  unhampered  by 
the  former  offensive  conditions,  was  extended  to  him  by 
the  Hanoverian  government,  approved  in  London  and 
urged  by  Heyne  and  other  influential  friends,  it  was  only 
a  feeling  of  strong  obligation  to  the  Grand  Duke  that 
prevented  its  acceptance.  Even  that  could  not  prevent, 
in  after  years,  some  feeling  of  regret  at  having  declined 
the  last  chance  of  a  better  lot.  He  often  bewailed  the 
failure  of  his  life.  "  0  mein  verfehltes  Leben !  "  he 
would  say,  comparing  the  reality  of  his  experience  with 
the  fond  ideals  of  his  youth.  Meanwhile,  against  all 
discouragements  and  misapprehensions,  he  labored  with 
unflagging  zeal  in  the  work  of  his  office,  preaching  elo- 
quent sermons,  preparing  manuals,  inspecting  schools, 
examining  and  placing  candidates,  and  introducing  such 
reforms  in  church  discipline  as  the  bigotry  of  his  asso- 
ciates would  allow.  And  still,  amid  all  the  pressure  of 
official  duties,  he  found  time  for  the  literary  labors  which 
he  ever  regarded  as  his  true  vocation,  and  sent  forth  into 
the  world  in  rapid  succession  the  works  which  have  made 
him  famous.  His  completed  "  Philosophy  of  History," 
his  "  Adrastea,"  his  "  Letters  for  the  Furtherance  of  Hu- 
manity," his  "  Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry,"  his  "  Yolkslie- 

16 


242  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

der,"  his  "  Cid,"  are  the  products  of  this  period.  These 
and  other  works,  which  might  have  been  a  life-task  for 
ordinary  men,  were  his  amusement  and  the  solace  of 
many  bitter  woes.  A  life  of  official  drudgery  was  further 
relieved  by  an  unlooked-for  gleam  of  good  fortune  and 
the  intercalation  of  a  year  of  rest.  The  dream  of  his 
youth  was  fulfilled  at  last  in  the  opportunity  of  Italian 
travel.     His  wife  as  biographer  writes  :  — 

"  In  the  year  1788,  on  the  10th  of  March,  we  received  by 
mail  a  gift  of  two  thousand  florins  rhenish,  in  ducats,  with  a 
letter  from  an  unknown  hand.  The  letter  ran  thus :  ^  Do  not 
reject  this  slight  offering  of  the  greatest  veneration  ;  do  not  repay 
my  good-will  with  contempt,  nor  deprive  me  of  the  sweet  con- 
solation of  thinking  that  even  I  may  contribute  to  the  ease  and 
satisfaction  of  a  great  man.  Be  not  offended,  for  my  wish  and 
aim  are  pure.  Forget  the  unknown  who  writes  this,  and  also 
the  occasion  of  the  writing.  You  will  never  learn  who  I  am. 
Be  silent  concerning  it,  as  I  shall  ever  be  silent.'  '* 

The  letter  was  franked  to  Eisenach,  about  twenty-five 
miles  from  Weimar;  it  bore  two  addresses,  in  one  of 
which  Weimar  was  spelt  ai  instead  of  ei.  The  cover 
showed  hard  use,  as  if  coming  from  a  distance ;  and  the 
letter  itself  indicated  three  different  hands,  of  which  two 
at  least  were  feminine.  The  donor  was  never  ascer- 
tained. The  gift  was  most  opportune;  the  domestic 
economy  had  fallen  into  debt,  and  pressing  arrears  could 
now  be  paid. 

The  saying,  "  It  never  rains  but  it  pours,"  seemed 
likely  to  be  verified.  Ten  days  after  this  event, — which 
of  course  was  kept  secret  during  Herder's  lifetime,  —  a 
note  from  the  Grand  Duke  informed  him  that  his  salary, 
which  had  hitherto   amounted  but  to  twelve  hundred 


HERDER.  243 

thalers,  would  be  increased  by  three  hundred  thalers  out 
of  the  Duke's  private  purse.  A  few  weeks  later  came  a 
letter  from  Freiherr  von  Dalberg,  canon  of  Worms  and 
Speyer,  inviting  Herder  to  accompany  him  in  a  journey 
to  Italy.  A  furlough  was  readily  granted  by  the  Duke, 
and  on  the  6th  of  August  of  that  year,  two  months  after 
Goethe's  return.  Herder  started  on  his  tour. 

His  Italian  experience,  if  not  so  fruitful  as  Goethe's, 
—  owing  in  part  to  weaker  affinities ;  in  part  to  less 
thorough  preparation,  —  was  nevertheless  an  important 
epoch  in  his  life.     He  writes  to  his  wife  :  — 

"  In  how  many  things  this  journey  has  made  me  wiser !  How 
many  sides  of  my  being  it  has  touched,  gently  or  roughly,  of 
whose  existence  I  was  scarcely  aware  !  This  I  know  for  a  cer- 
tainty :  it  has  opened  my  eyes  with  regard  to  men,  and  forced 
me  to  recognize  what  is  really  valuable  in  life ;  and  especially 
to  appreciate  truth  and  love,  of  which  there  is  so  little  in  the 
world.  Thus  Italy,  and  Rome  especially,  has  been  for  me  a 
high-school,  not  so  much  of  art  as  of  life.  You  will  find,  when 
I  return,  that  I  am  grown  more  serious ;  but  do  not  fear  my 
seriousness,  —  it  will  only  bind  me  the  closer  to  you  and  to  all 
my  beloved." 

I  am  led  to  suspect  from  this  and  other  passages  in 
his  letters  that  Rome,  on  the  whole,  was  a  disappoint- 
ment to  him.  Its  treasures  and  its  glories  did  not  com- 
pensate the  discomfort  of  the  stranger  in  a  far  country, 
sighing  for  the  blandishments  of  his  Northern  home, 
dearer  to  him  than  all  that  art  and  antiquity  could  offer. 
The  exceeding  sensitiveness  of  his  nature,  and  what 
may  be  termed  the  preponderant  subjectivity  of  his 
mental  life,  made  the  rubs  and  annoyances,  social  and 
other,  of  foreign  travel  more  galling  to  him  than  to  more 
robust  natures.     Herein  he  differed  from  Goethe,  who 


244  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

could  come  out  of  self  and  live  in  objects,  and  who  when 
in  Rome  was  all  there.  Herder,  for  one  thing,  found 
the  wife  of  his  friend  Dalberg  —  in  whose  society  and 
by  wliose  invitation  he  had  undertaken  the  journey  — 
a  thorn  in  his  side,  and  finally  left  the  party  and  took 
separate  lodgings.  Altogether,  he  appears  to  have  been 
ill  at  ease.     He  writes  :  — 

*'  Rome  enervates  the  mind ;  ...  it  is  the  grave  of  a  per- 
ished world,  in  which  one  soon  accustoms  one's  self  to  quiet 
dreaming  and  dear  idleness.  It  has  not,  to  be  sure,  that  effect 
upon  me  ;  I  do  not  easily  let  a  day  pass  without  seeing  sights, 
or  busying  myself  about  something.  Yet  for  me,  too,  it  is  a 
grave  from  which  I  begin  to  wish  myself  away." 

And  yet  he  received  attention  which  must  have  been 
gratifying,  not  only  from  his  own  countrymen  then  resi- 
dent in  Rome,  but  from  native  nobles  as  well ;  cardi- 
nals, monsigniori,  and  others  paid  their  court  to  the 
stranger.  "  But  all  this,"  he  says,  "  is  mere  spectacle, 
and  begins  to  weary  me.  Still  it  is  well  to  have  seen 
this  spectacle,  since  there  is  no  time  to  think  of  any- 
thing more  serious."  The  person  who  seems  to  have 
interested  him  most  was  the  celebrated  lady-painter 
Angelica  Kaufmann,  to  whom,  while  in  Rome,  he  sat 
for  his  portrait.     He  again  writes  :  — 

"  The  Angelica  is  a  tender,  virginal  soul,  like  a  Madonna,  or 
a  little  dove.  In  a  small  company,  with  two  or  three,  she  is 
altogether  lovely.  But  she  lives  very  retired,  I  might  say  in 
a  pictorial,  ideal  world,  in  which  the  bird  but  touches  fruits 
and  flowers  with  her  little  bill.  Her  old  Zucchi  [the  Venetian 
painter  whom  she  married]  is  a  brave  man  in  his  way ;  but  he 
always  seems  to  me  like  an  old  Venetian  as  represented  on  the 
stage." 


HERDER.  245 

On  his  return  to  Rome,  after  a  brief  sojourn  at  Naples, 
he  writes  to  his  wife  :  — 

"  Altogether,  Angelica  is  my  best  comforter.  The  more  I 
become  acquainted  with  her,  the  more  I  learn  to  love  this  maid- 
enly artistic  nature,  —  a  true  celestial  Muse,  full  of  grace,  deli- 
cacy, modesty,  and  an  unspeakable  goodness  of  heart. 

"  Her  impression  will  be  a  life-long  benefit  to  me,  as  of  one 
far  removed  from  all  flirtation,  vanity,  and  falsehood.  Of  all 
that,  she  knows  nothing ;  and  with  all  her  humility  and  angelic 
transparency  and  innocence,  she  is  perhaps  the  most  cultivated 
woman  in  Europe.  ...  I  let  her  read  lately  the  passage  in 
your  letter  in  which  you  speak  of  her.  She  suddenly  burst  into 
tears,  and  it  was  long  before  she  regained  her  composure.  She 
said  to  me  lately,  in  her  quiet  way,  that  she  wished  to  die  with 
us  at  least,  since  she  could  not  live  with  us ;  at  any  rate,  that 
she  must  make  your  acquaintance  if  she  did  not  die  too  soon.  I 
believe  for  a  certainty  we  have  in  her  a  true  soul-treasure  of 
our  life.  As  soon  as  she  has  leisure,  she  means  to  paint  her 
picture  for  you." 

His  letters  from  Italy  are  mostly  addressed  to  his 
family ;  and  a  pleasant  view  of  German  home  life,  and 
of  Herder's  affectionate  nature  is  given  in  his  letters  to 
his  children.  He  wrote  to  each  singly,  but  the  following 
is  to  the  whole  household :  — 

Rome,  Oct.  15,  1788. 
My  dear  good  Children,  —  You  have  given  me  so  much 
pleasure  with  your  letters  that  I  owe  several  to  each  one  of  you, 
and  I  mean  very  soon  to  pay  the  debt.  To  you,  dear  good 
Gottfried,  I  shall  write  about  Roman  antiquities ;  to  you,  dear 
August,  of  beautiful  gods  and  goddesses  ;  to  you,  brave  Wil- 
helm,  of  fine  buildings,  the  rotunda  and  others;  to  you,  stal- 
wart Adelbert,  of  Italian  oxen,  cows,  and  trees ;  to  you,  little 


246  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Louise,  of  gardens  and  beautiful  pictures ;  to  you,  dear  Emil, 
of  grapes  and  other  nice  things.  ...  I  am  glad,  dear  children, 
that  you  are  so  industrious,  obedient,  and  well  behaved.  I  thank 
you,  Gottfried,  that  you  take  such  good  care  of  my  library,  and 
write  me  such  nice  letters  ;  you,  too,  dear  August  and  good  Wil- 
helm.  And  I  am  pleased  that  Herr  Krause  gives  such  a  good 
account  of  your  drawing.  It  is  a  grief  to  me  every  moment  that 
I  can't  draw.  I  am  like  a  dumb  man  who  has  thoughts,  but  can't 
express  them.  Therefore,  dear  children,  learn  to  draw  well,  and 
be  diligent,  too,  in  studying  languages.  And,  Gottfried,  it 
would  do  no  harm  if  you  should  begin  to  play  the  piano  again, 
so  that  you  may  learn  to  play  with  real  expression.  When  I 
read  your  letter  to  Herr  Rehberg,  who  is  an  excellent  painter, 
—  the  letter  in  which  you  say  that  you  mean  to  be  an  Albrecht 
Dtirer,  —  he  asked  me  why  I  did  n't  bring  you  with  me.  But 
it  is  too  soon  for  that;  you  must  learn  a  great  many  things  be- 
fore you  go  to  Italy.  It  is  good  that  you  have  begun  Greek  ; 
it  is  the  finest  language  on  earth.  Be  very  industrious.  Dear 
Luischen,  you  are  learning  very  pretty  hymns  ;  and  your  little 
notes  to  me  are  very  nice.  I  like  especially  the  hymn,  "  Thy 
ways  to  God  commend."  You  must  also  learn  some  verses  of 
the  hymn,  "  I  '11  sing  to  Thee  with  Heart  and  Mouth  ;  "  it  is  a 
beautiful  hymn,  that.  Dear  Emil,  I  would  like  to  see  you  in 
your  little  new  beaver  dress ;  but  you  will  have  done  wearing 
it  when  I  come  back.  Be  careful  of  it,  you  good  little  boy,  and 
mind  you  love  me.  Your  little  letters  give  me  much  pleasure  ; 
you  are  very  smart  and  a  little  Gottfried.  And  now,  good-by, 
all  of  you,  my  dear  good  children,  —  Gottfried,  August,  Wil- 
helm,  Adelbert ;  and  you  my  little  woman  and  little  Emil,  who 
are  so  fond  of  writing  to  me.  Good-by  !  Behave  well ;  be 
happy  and  diligent  and  obedient.     Farewell !  all  of  you. 

If  in  Rome  Herder  felt,  as  so  many  others  have  done, 
oppressed  and  unnerved  by  the  genius  of  the  place,  in 
Naples,  on  the  contrary,  whither  he  went  by  invitation 
of  the  Duchess  Amalia,  he  was  all  himself  again.   Nature 


HERDER,  247 

was  more  to  him  than  antiquity  and  art.  The  climate, 
the  sea,  the  delicious  air  soothed  and  renewed  him  in 
body  and  mind.     He  writes  :  — 

"  I  am  happy  in  Naples.  ...  In  spite  of  the  cold  [the  winter 
was  one  of  unusual  severity,  surprising  the  Neapolitans  with 
the  rare  visitation  of  snow  and  ice],  the  air  here  is  such  as  I 
never  before  experienced,  —  balmy  and  refreshing.  Freed  from 
oppressive  Rome,  I  feel  myself  quite  another  person,  —  spirit- 
ually and  bodily  new  born.  ...  I  can  believe  the  Neapolitans, 
that  when  God  wishes  to  have  a  good  time,  he  just  posts  himself 
at  the  window  of  heaven  and  looks  down  on  Naples.  I  see,  or 
begin  to  feel,  how  one  might  be  a  Greek.  .  .  .  Oh,  if  I  only  had 
you  all  in  Naples  !  If  we  could  live  out  our  bit  of  life  here ! 
You,  a  Grecian,  ought  to  live  here.  .  .  .  No  cloud  can  come 
or  remain  on  any  one's  brow  in  this  atmosphere ;  one  gives  it 
to  the  winds.  .  .  .  Rome  is  a  den  of  murderers  compared  with 
this ;  and  I  now  see  very  well  why  I  was  never  happy  there.  .  .  . 
Farewell,  angel !  think  of  your  lonely  Ulysses  by  the  sea-shore. 
All  good  spirits  be  with  you  !  my  longing  sends  them  to  you  over 
sea  and  mountains,  and  draws  you  oft  hither  in  my  thoughts." 

In  the  midsummer  of  1789  Herder  returned  to  Wei- 
mar, where  the  call  to  Gottingen  still  awaited  his  deci- 
sion. His  friends  would  not  hear  of  his  leaving  Weimar, 
and  insisted  that  he  should  not  accept  before  consulting 
with  them.  Everything  was  urged  with  wild  exaggera- 
tion that  could  prejudice  him  against  University  life, 
compared  with  which,  it  was  alleged,  his  present  posi- 
tion was  a  path  of  roses.  *' Goethe,"  says  his  wife,  "now 
showed  himself  a  true  friend  ;  he  would  not  interfere ; 
he  would  not  mislead ;  he  only  spoke  of  the  danger  of  a 
change  at  Herder's  time  of  life,  and  begged  that  he  and 
his  wife  would  consider  as  calmly  as  possible  the  two 
situations."     It  was  long  before  Herder  could  decide. 


248  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"  The  voice  of  his  genius  was  for  Gottingen ; "  but.  as  I 
have  said,  his  gratitude  to  the  reigning  family,  a  feeling 
of  obligation  to  continue  in  their  service,  and  the  wishes 
of  friends  whom  he  greatly  esteemed,  prevailed  against 
his  better  judgment.  With  a  heavy  heart  and  strong 
internal  struggle,  he  renounced  what  seemed  to  him  a 
fairer  lot.  Whether  it  would  have  proved  so  is  very 
doubtful.  The  truth  is,  it  was  not  in  Herder's  over- 
sensitive and  self-willed  nature  to  adjust  himself  com- 
pletely with  the  world  as  it  was  and  is ;  to  fall  into 
pleasant  official  relations  with  his  fellow-men,  or  to  find 
satisfaction  anywhere  but  in  the  circle  of  his  family 
and  nearest  friends.  Heaven  had  bestowed  on  him  one 
gift,  than  which  no  fairer  ever  falls  to  the  lot  of  man,  — 
a  perfect  wife.  Would  he  reckon  truly  with  his  destiny, 
the  rubs  and  stings  of  public  converse,  so  grievous  to 
his  soul,  were  compensated  by  that  one  gift.  He  had 
drawn  the  highest  prize  in  the  lottery  of  life,  and  could 
claim  no  right  to  anything  more. 

The  remaining  fourteen  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in 
Weimar,  where  the  pressure  of  official  duty  and  frequent 
illness  (for  his  bodily  constitution  was  prematurely 
broken)  allowed  little  time  for  literary  labor.  And  yet 
some  of  his  most  important  works  are  the  product  of 
this  period, —  among  others,  the  "  Adrastaea,"  the  "  Let- 
ters for  the  Promotion  of  Humanity,"  the  "  Letters  on 
Persepolis,"  the  closing  part  of  his  contributions  to  the 
"  Philosophy  of  History,"  and  his  translation  of  the 
"  Cid." 

In  the  first  years  of  this  century  an  affection  of  the 
eyes,  which  gave  him  the  feeling,  as  he  expressed  it,  of 
looking  through  a  veil,  impaired  the  free  use  of  books 
and  pen,  and  would,  had  his  life  been  prolonged,  have 


HERDER.  249 

ended  in  total  blindness.  From  this  calamity,  which 
meant  more  to  him  than  to  most  men,  he  was  saved  by 
death.  With  failing  vision  his  health,  which  had  long 
been  declining,  declined  more  rapidly,  until  after  a  brief 
illness,  in  which  his  son  Gottfried  was  his  attendant 
physician,  he  passed  without  a  pang  to  his  final  rest. 
On  the  18th  of  December,  1803,  Weimar  lost,  if  not  its 
brightest  genius,  its  most  devout  and  consecrated  soul. 
A  mourning  city,  with  literary  friends  from  abroad, 
assisted  at  his  obsequies ;  the  funeral  sermon  —  pro- 
nounced, as  is  usual  in  Germany,  at  the  grave  —  was 
listened  to  by  more  than  four  thousand  hearers.  "Light, 
Love,  Life,"  is  the  epithet  inscribed  on  his  tombstone. 
Tributes  from  all  quarters,  in  verse  and  prose,  expressed 
the  wide  sympathy  of  his  spiritual  peers,  —  among  them 
one  from  the  Archbishop  of  Tarento  at  Naples,  in  Latin 
distich,  addressed  to  the  Duchess  Amalia,  the  honored 
friend  of  both. 

The  most  appreciative,  as  well  as  the  most  glowing,  of 
these  tributes  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Jean  Paul.  Says 
this  grateful  friend  and  enthusiastic  admirer :  — 

"  If  he  was  misunderstood  by  opposing  times  and  parties,  it 
was  not  altogether  without  fault  of  his  own.  His  fault  was  that 
he  was  no  star  of  first  or  any  other  magnitude,  but  a  whole 
cluster  of  stars,  out  of  wliich  each  one  spells  a  constellation  to 
suit  himself.  .  .  .  Men  with  powers  of  various  kinds  are  always 
misunderstood ;  those  with  powers  of  only  one  kind  seldom.  .  .  . 
If  he  was  no  poet,  —  as  he  often  indeed  thought  of  himself  and 
other  very  celebrated  ones,  planting  himself  as  he  did  close  by 
the  Homeric  and  Shakspearian  standard,  —  then  he  was  merely 
something  better ;  and  that  is,  a  poem,  an  Indian-Greek  epos, 
made  by  some  purest  god.  .  .  .  Greece  was  to  him  the  highest ; 
and  however  universal  and  epic-cosmopolitan  his  taste,  he  still 
clung,  like  a  much-wandered  Odysseus,  after  his  return  from  all- 


250  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

blossom  lands,  to  his  Greek  home.  .  .  .  Few  minds  are  learned 
after  the  same  grand  fashion  as  he.  .  .  .  Many  are  clasped  by 
their  learning  as  by  a  withering  ivy ;  but  he  as  by  a  grape-vine 
.  .  .  He  combined  the  boldest  freedom  of  philosophy  with  the 
most  pious  faith.  .  .  .  His  life  was  a  shining  exception  to  the 
often-tainted  life  of  genius.  He  sacrificed  like  the  ancient  priests, 
even  at  the  altar  of  the  Muses,  only  with  white  garments." 

To  the  greater  part  of  this  panegyric  the  students  of 
Herder  will  cordially  assent;  but  not,  I  think,  to  the 
view  which  claims  for  its  subject  a  Grecian  order  of 
mind.  Such  claim  is  vitiated  by  the  dilettante  and  an- 
thological  character,  so  to  speak,  of  Herder's  genius. 
With  all  his  learning  and  immense  capacity  he  has  given 
to  the  world,  as  I  have  said,  no  one  great  work,  —  nei- 
ther drama,  nor  epic,  nor  novel,  nor  history,  —  no 
finished  whole  of  wider  scope  than  the  parables  and 
paramyths,  and  occasional  short  poems  contained  in  his 
"  Zerstreute  Blatter."  His  genius  was  encyclopaedic,  not 
plastic.  He  was  no  artist ;  he  wanted  the  shaping 
power,  which,  united  to  his  warm  poetic  feeling  and 
wondrous  wealth  of  intellect,  would  have  made  him  the 
first  poet  of  his  age.  The  forty  volumes  of  Miiller's 
edition  of  his  writings,  though  exhibiting  no  complete 
work,  are  otherwise  a  literature  in  themselves,  —  an 
encyclopaedia  of  theology,  philosophy,  history,  biography, 
criticism,  ethnology,  antiquarian  research,  and  poetic 
lore ;  and,  added  to  all,  numerous  translations  and  par- 
aphrases of  poems  and  songs,  from  the  Spanish  "  Cid  " 
to  such  trifles  as  "  John  Anderson  my  Jo,"  and  "  Love 
will  find  out  the  way."  An  indefatigable  Uttirateur, 
but  no  artist.  Like  King  David,  he  collected  materials 
from  all  quarters,  but  it  was  not  given  to  him  to  rear  a 
temple  therewith. 


HERDER.  251 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  what  work  of  Herder  is 
especially  representative  of  the  genius  of  the  man ;  they 
all  represent  it,  inasmuch  as  the  moral  sentiment  pre- 
dominates in  them  all.  A  few  quotations  may  suffice  to 
illustrate,  not  so  much  his  literary  talent,  as  the  tone  of 
his  mind.  Take  his  definition  of  Humanity, —  an  idea  to 
which  Herder  was  largely  instrumental  in  giving  the 
prominence  it  has  in  modern  thought:  — 

"  Humanity  is  the  characteristic  of  our  race ;  but  only  as 
tendency  is  it  native  to  man,  —  it  must  be  developed  by  educa- 
tion. We  do  not  bring  it  complete  into  the  world  ;  but  in  the 
world  it  is  to  be  the  goal  of  our  endeavor,  the  sum  of  our  dis- 
cipline, —  it  is  to  constitute  our  worth.  We  know  no  angel  in 
man  ;  and  if  the  daemon  that  rules  us  is  not  a  humane  daemon, 
we  become  tormentors  of  our  fellow-men.  The  divine  in  our 
species  is  therefore  the  cultivation  of  humanity.  To  this  have 
contributed  all  great  and  good  men,  —  law-givers,  inventors, 
philosophers,  poets,  artists  ;  every  noble  person  in  his  place,  by 
the  education  of  his  children,  by  the  faithful  discharge  of  his 
duties,  by  example  and  work,  institution  and  doctrine.  Human- 
ity is  the  prize  and  outcome  of  all  human  endeavors,  —  as  it 
were  the  art  of  our  race.  Its  cultivation  is  a  work  that  must  be 
prosecuted  without  end,  or  we  relapse,  both  high  and  low,  into 
animality,  brutality." 

The  following  is  from  the  "  Tithon  and  Aurora"  :  — 

" '  Whatsoever  is  born  must  die,'  says  the  Brahman  ;  and 
that  which  seeks  to  defer  its  downfall  by  artificial  methods,  in 
resorting  to  such  methods  has  already  outlived  itself.  .  .  .  All 
orders  and  institutions  of  Society  are  the  offspring  of  Time* 
The  ancient  Mother  produced,  nourished,  educated  them  ;  she 
adorned  and  gave  them  their  outfit ;  and  after  a  longer  or 
shorter  term  of  life  she  buries  them,  as  she  buries  or  renews 
herself.  .  .  .  What  we  call  outliving  ourselves,  which  is  a  kind 
of  death,  is  with  the  souls  of  the  better  sort  but  the  sleep  which 


252  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

precedes  a  new  waking ;  a  relaxation  of  the  bow  which  prepares 
it  for  new  use.  So  rests  the  fallow  field,  in  order  to  produce 
more  plentifully  hereafter.  So  dies  the  tree  in  winter,  that  it 
may  put  forth  and  blossom  anew  in  the  spring.  Destiny  never 
forsakes  the  good,  so  long  as  he  does  not  forsake  himself  and 
ignobly  despair.  The  genius  which  seemed  to  have  departed 
from  him  returns  to  him  again  at  the  right  moment,  bringing 
new  activity,  prosperity,  and  joy.  .  .  .  Sacrifice  to  this  Genius, 
though  you  see  him  not !  Hope  in  returning  Fortune,  when  even 
you  deem  her  far  off.  If  your  left  side  is  sore,  lay  yourself  on  the 
right;  if  the  storm  bent  your  sapling  one  way,  bend  it  the  other 
way  till  it  stands  straight  again.  You  have  wearied  your  memory, 
then  exercise  your  understanding.  You  have  striven  too  labori- 
ously after  seeming,  and  it  has  deceived  you ;  now  seek  being,  — 
that  will  not  deceive.  Unmerited  fame  has  spoiled  you  ;  thank 
Heaven  that  you  are  rid  of  it !  and  seek  in  your  own  worth  a 
fame  which  cannot  be  taken  away.  .  .  .  The  Serpent  of  time 
often  casts  her  slough,  and  brings  to  the  man  in  his  cave,  if  not 
the  fabled  jewel  on  her  head  and  the  rose  in  her  mouth,  at  least 
medicinal  herbs,  which  procure  for  him  oblivion  of  the  past  and 
restoration  to  new  life. 

"  Philosophy  abounds  in  remedies  designed  to  console  us  for 
misfortunes  endured ;  but  unquestionably  its  best  remedy  is  when 
it  strengthens  us  to  bear  new  misfortunes,  and  gives  us  a  firm 
reliance  on  ourselves.  The  illusion  which  weakens  the  faculties 
comes  mostly  from  without.  But  the  objects  which  environ  us 
are  not  ourselves.  It  is  sad  indeed  when  the  situation  in  which 
a  man  is  placed  is  so  embittered  that  he  has  no  disposition  to 
touch  one  of  its  grapes  or  flowers,  because,  like  apples  of  Sodom, 
they  turn  to  ashes  in  his  hands.  But  the  situation  is  not  him- 
self ;  let  him  like  the  tortoise  draw  in  his  limbs,  and  be  what  he 
can  and  ought.  The  more  he  disregards  the  consequences  of  his 
acts,  the  more  repose  he  has  in  action.  .  .  .  The  fountain  does 
not  stop  to  calculate  through  what  regions  of  the  earth  its 
streams  shall  flow ;  it  flows  from  its  own  fulness  with  an  irre- 
pressible motion.  That  which  others  show  us  of  ourselves  is 
only  appearance.     It  has  always  some  foundation,  and  is  never 


HERDER.  253 

to  be  wholly  despised  ;  but  it  is  only  the  reflection  of  our  being 
in  them  mirrored  back  to  us  from  their  own,  —  often  a  broken 
and  blurred  image,  not  our  being  itself.  ...  In  the  heart  we 
live,  and  not  in  the  thoughts.  The  opinion  of  others  may  be  a 
favorable  or  unfavorable  wind  in  our  sails.  As  the  ocean  its 
vessels,  circumstances  may  now  detain  and  now  further  us,  but 
ship  and  sail,  compass,  helm,  and  oar  are  still  our  own.  Never 
then,  like  old  Tithon,  grow  gray  in  the  conceit  that  your  youth 
has  passed  away;  rather  with  new-born  activity  let  a  new 
Aurora  daily  spring  from  your  arms." 


254  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


CHAPTER   XV. 

GOETHE. 

I.  — THE    MAN. 

/^^  ENIUS  of  the  supreme  order  presupposes  a  nature 
^-^  of  equal  scope  as  the  prime  condition  of  its  being. 
The  Gardens  of  Adonis  require  little  earth,  but  the  oak 
will  not  flourish  in  a  tub  ;  and  the  wine  of  Tokay  is  the 
product  of  no  green-house,  nor  gotten  of  sour  grapes. 
Given  a  genuine  great  poet,  you  will  find  a  greater  man 
behind,  in  whom,  among  others,  these  virtues  predomi- 
nate, —  courage,  generosity,  truth. 

Pre-eminent  among  the  poets  of  the  modern  world 
stands  Goethe,  chief  of  his  own  generation,  challenging 
comparison  with  the  greatest  of  all  time.  His  literary 
activity  embraces  a  span  of  nigh  seventy  years  in  a  life 
of  more  than  four  score,  beginning,  significantly  enough, 
with  a  poem  on  "  Christ's  Descent  into  Hell "  (his  ear- 
liest extant  composition),  and  ending  with  Faust's  — 
that  is,  Man's  —  ascent  into  heaven. 

The  rank  of  a  writer  —  his  spiritual  import  to  human 
kind  —  may  be  inferred  from  the  number  and  worth  of 
the  writings  of  which  he  has  furnished  the  topic  and 
occasion.  "  When  kings  build,"  says  Schiller,  speaking 
of  Kant's  commentators,  "  the  draymen  have  plenty  to 
do."  Dante  and  Shakspeare  have  created  whole  libra- 
ries tlirough   the   interest  inspired   by   their  writings. 


GOETHE.  255 

The  Goethe-literature,  so-called,  —  though  scarce  fifty 
years  have  elapsed  since  the  poet's  death,  —  already 
numbers  its  hundreds  of  volumes. 

I  note  in  this  man  first  of  all,  as  a  literary  phenome- 
non, the  unexampled  fact  of  supreme  excellence  in  sev- 
eral quite  distinct  provinces  of  literary  action.  Had 
we  only  his  minor  poems,  he  would  rank  as  the  first  of 
lyrists.  Had  he  written  only  "  Faust,"  he  would  be  the 
first  of  philosophic  poets.  Had  he  written  only  "  Her- 
mann and  Dorothea,"  the  sweetest  idyllist ;  if  only  the 
"  Marchen,"  the  subtlest  of  allegorists.  Had  he  written 
never  a  verse,  but  only  prose,  he  would  hold  the  highest 
place  among  the  prose-writers  of  Germany.  And  lastly, 
had  he  written  only  on  scientific  subjects,  in  that  line 
also  —  in  the  field  of  science  —  he  would  be,  as  he  is, 
an  acknowledged  leader. 

Noticeable  in  him  also  is  the  combination  of  extraor- 
dinary genius  with  extraordinary  fortune.  A  magnifi- 
cent person,  a  sound  physique,  inherited  wealth,  high 
social  position,  official  dignity,  with  eighty-three  years  of 
earthly  existence,  compose  the  frame-work  of  this  illus- 
trious life. 

Behind  the  author,  behind  the  poet,  behind  the  world- 
renowned  genius,  a  not  unreasonable  curiosity  seeks 
the  original  man,  the  human  individual  as  he  walked 
among  men,  his  manner  of  being,  his  characteristics  as 
shown  in  the  converse  of  life.  In  what  soil  grew  the 
flowers  and  ripened  the  fruits  which  have  been  the  de- 
light and  the  aliment  of  nations  ?  In  proportion,  of 
course,  to  the  eminence  attained  by  a  writer,  —  in  pro- 
portion to  the  worth  of  his  works,  to  their  hold  on  the 
world,  —  is  the  interest  felt  in  his  personality  and  be- 
havior, in  the  incidents  of  his  life.     Unfortunately,  our 


256  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

knowledge  of  the  person  is  not  always  proportioned  to 
the  lustre  of  the  name.  Of  the  two  great  poets  to  whom 
the  world's  unrepealable  verdict  has  assigned  the  fore- 
most place  in  their  several  kinds,  we  know  in  one  case 
absolutely  nothing,  and  next  to  nothing  in  the  other. 
To  the  question.  Who  sung  the  wrath  of  Achilles  and 
the  wanderings  of  the  much-versed  Odysseus  ?  tradition 
answers  with  a  name  to  which  no  faintest  shadow  of  a 
person  corresponds.  To  the  question.  Who  composed 
"Hamlet"  and  "Othello"?  history  answers  with  a  per- 
son so  indistinct,  that  recent  speculation  has  dared  to 
question  the  agency  of  Shakspeare  in  those  creations. 
What  would  not  the  old  scholiasts  have  given  for  satis- 
factory proofs  of  the  existence  of  a  Homer  identical  with 
tlie  author  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  ?  What  would 
not  the  Shakspeare  clubs  give  for  one  more  authentic 
anecdote  of  the  world's  great  dramatist  ? 

Of  Goethe  we  know  more  —  I  mean  of  his  externals  — 
than  of  any  other  writer  of  equal  note.  This  is  due  in 
part  to  his  wide  relations,  official  and  other,  with  his  con- 
temporaries ;  to  his  large  correspondence  with  people  of 
note,  of  which  the  documents  have  been  preserved  by  the 
parties  addressed ;  to  the  interest  felt  in  him  by  curious 
observers  living  in  the  day  of  his  greatness.  It  is  due 
in  part  also  to  the  fact  that,  unlike  the  greatest  of  his 
predecessors,  he  flourished  in  an  all-communicating,  all- 
recording  age  ;  and  partly  it  is  due  to  autobiographical 
notices,  embracing  important  portions  of  his  history. 

Two  seemingly  opposite  factors  —  limiting  and  quali- 
fying the  one  the  other  —  determined  the  course  and 
topics  of  his  life.  One  was  the  aim  which  he  pro- 
posed to  himself  as  the  governing  principle  and  purpose 
of  his  being,  —  to  perfect  himself,  to  make  the  most  of 


GOETHE.  257 

the  nature  which  God  had  given  him ;  the  other  was  a 
constitutional  tendency  to  come  out  of  himself,  to  lose 
himself  in  objects,  especially  in  natural  objects,  so  that 
in  the  study  of  Nature  —  to  which  he  devoted  a  large 
part  of  his  life  —  he  seems  not  so  much  a  scientific 
observer  as  a  chosen  confidant,  to  whom  the  discerning 
Mother  revealed  her  secrets. 

In  no  greatest  genius  are  all  its  talents  self-derived. 
Countless  influences  mould  our  intellect  and  mould  our 
heart.  One  of  these,  and  often  one  of  the  most  potent,  is 
heredity.  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  for  good  or  for 
evil,  physically  and  mentally,  the  father  and  mother  are 
in  the  child,  as  indeed  all  his  ancestors  are  in  every  man. 

Of  Goethe's  father  we  know  only  what  the  son  him- 
self has  tol5  us  in  his  memoirs.  A  man  of  austere 
presence,  from  whom  Goethe,  as  he  tells  us,  inherited 
his  bodily  stature  and  his  serious  treatment  of  life, — 

*'  Vom  Vater  hab  ich  die  Statur, 
Des  Lebens  ernstes  fiihren." 

By  profession  a  lawyer,  but  without  practice,  living  in 
grim  seclusion  amid  his  books  and  collections;  a  man 
of  solid  acquirements  and  large  culture,  who  had  trav- 
elled in  Italy,  and  first  awakened  in  Wolfgang  the  long- 
ing for  that  land  ;  a  man  of  ample  means,  inhabiting 
a  stately  mansion.  For  the  rest,  a  stiff,  narrow-minded, 
fussy  pedant,  with  small  toleration  for  any  methods  or 
aims  but  his  own ;  who,  while  he  appreciated  the  supe- 
rior gifts  of  his  son,  was  obstinately  bent  on  guiding 
them  in  strict  professional  grooves,  and  teased  him  with 
the  friction  of  opposing  wills. 

The  opposite,  in  most  respects,  of  this  stately  and 
pedantic  worthy  was  the  Frau  Rathin,  his  youthful  wife, 

-^7  " 


258  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

young  enough  to  have  been  his  daughter,  —  a  jocund, 
exuberant  nature,  a  woman  to  be  loved  ;  one  who  blessed 
society  with  her  presence,  and  possessed  uncommon 
gifts  of  discourse.  She  was  but  eighteen  when  Wolf- 
gang was  born,  —  a  companion  to  him  and  his  sister 
Cornelia ;  one  in  whom  they  were  sure  to  find  sympa- 
thy and  ready  indulgence.  Goethe  was  indebted  to  her, 
as  he  tells  us,  for  his  joyous  spirit  and  his  narrative 
talent,  — 

<'  Von  Miitterchen  die  Frohiiatur 
Und  Lust  zu  fabuliren." 

Outside  of  the  poet's  household,  the  most  important 
figure  in  the  circle  of  his  childish  acquaintance  was  his 
mother's  father,  from  whom  he  had  his  name,  —  Johann 
Wolfgang  Textor,  the  Sehultheiss,  or  chief  magistrate,  of 
the  city.  From  him  Goethe  seems  to  have  inherited  the 
superstition  of  which  some  curious  examples  are  re- 
corded in  his  life.  He  shared  with  Napoleon  and  other 
remarkable  men,  says  Yon  Miiller,  the  conceit  that  little 
mischances  are  prophetic  of  greater  evils.  On  a  journey 
to  Baden-Baden  with  a  friend,  his  carriage  was  upset  and 
his  companion  slightly  injured.  He  thought  it  a  bad 
omen,  and  instead  of  proceeding  to  Baden-Baden  chose 
another  watering-place  for  his  summer  resort.  If  in  his 
almanac  there  happened  to  be  a  blot  on  any  date,  he 
feared  to  undertake  anything  important  on  the  day  so 
marked.  He  had  noted  certain  fatal  days  ;  one  of  these 
was  the  22d  of  March.  On  that  day  he  had  lost  a  val- 
ued friend ;  on  that  day  the  theatre  to  which  he  had 
devoted  so  much  time  and  labor  was  burned ;  and  on 
that  day,  curiously  enough,  he  died.  He  believed  in 
oracles;  and  as  Rousseau  threw  stones  at  a  tree  to  learn 


GOETHE.  259 

whether  or  no  he  was  to  be  saved  (the  hitting  or  not 
hitting  the  tree  was  to  be  the  sign),  so  Goethe  tossed 
a  valuable  pocket-knife  into  the  river  Lahn  to  ascertain 
whether  he  would  succeed  as  a  painter.  If  behind  the 
bushes  which  bordered  the  stream  he  saw  the  knife 
plunge,  it  should  signify  success ;  if  not,  he  would  take 
it  as  an  omen  of  failure.  Rousseau  was  careful,  he 
tells  us,  to  choose  a  stout  tree,  and  to  stand  very  near. 
Goethe,  more  honest  with  himself,  adopted  no  such  pre- 
caution ;  the  plunge  of  the  knife  was  not  seen,  and  the 
painter's  career  was  abandoned. 

Wordsworth's  saying,  "  The  child  is  father  of  the 
man,"  —  a  saying  which  owes  ^  its  vitality  more  to  its 
form  than  its  substance,  —  is  not  always  verified,  or  its 
truth  is  not  always  apparent  in  the  lives  of  distinguished 
men.  I  find  not  much  in  Goethe  the  child  prophetic  of 
Goethe  the  man.  But  the  singer  and  the  seeker,  the 
two  main  tendencies  of  his  being,  are  already  apparent 
in  early  life.  Of  moral  traits,  the  most  conspicuous  in 
the  child  is  a  power  of  self-control, —  a  moral  heroism, 
which  secured  to  him  in  after  life  a  natural  leadership 
unattainable  by  mere  intellectual  supremacy.  An  in- 
stance of  this  self-control  is  recorded  among  the  anec- 
dotes of  his  boyhood.  At  one  of  the  lessons  which  he 
shared  with  other  boys,  the  teacher  failed  to  appear.  The 
young  people  awaited  his  coming  for  a  while,  but  toward 
the  close  of  the  hour  most  of  them  departed,  leaving 
behind  three  who  were  especially  hostile  to  Goethe. 
"  These,"  he  says,  "  thought  to  torment,  to  mortify, 
and  to  drive  me  away.  They  left  me  a  moment,  and 
returned  with  rods  taken  from  a  broom  which  they  had 
cut  to  pieces.  I  perceived  their  intention,  and  supposing 
the  expiration  of  the  hour  to  be  near,  I  immediately 


260  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

determined  to  make  no  resistance  until  the  clock  should 
strike.  Unmercifully,  thereupon,  they  began  to  scourge 
in  the  cruellest  manner  my  legs  and  calves.  I  did  not 
stir,  but  soon  felt  that  I  had  miscalculated  the  time,  and 
that  such  pain  greatly  lengthens  the  minutes."  When 
the  hour  expired,  his  superior  activity  enabled  him  to 
master  all  three,  and  to  pin  them  to  the  ground. 

In  later  years  the  same  zeal  of  self-discipline  which 
prompted  the  child  to  exercise  himself  in  bearing  pain, 
impelled  the  man  to  resist  and  overcome  constitutional 
weaknesses  by  force  of  will.  A  student  of  architecture, 
he  conquered  a  tendency  to  giddiness  by  standing  on 
pinnacles  and  walking  on  narrow  rafters  over  perilous 
abysses.  In  like  manner  he  overcame  the  ghostly  ter- 
rors instilled  in  the  nursery,  by  midnight  visits  to 
church-yards  and  uncanny  places. 

To  real  peril,  to  fear  of  death,  he  seems  to  have 
had  that  native  insensibility  so  notable  always  in  men 
of  genius,  in  whom  the  conviction  of  a  higher  destiny 
begets  the  feeling  of  a  charmed  life,  —  such  as  Plutarch 
records  of  the  first  Caesar  in  peril  of  shipwreck  on  the 
river  Anio.  In  the  French  campaign  (1793),  in  which 
Goethe  accompanied  the  Duke  of  Weimar  against  the 
, armies  of  the  Republic,  a  sudden  impulse  of  scientific 
curiosity  prompted  him,  in  spite  of  warnings  and  remon- 
strances, to  experiment  on  what  is  called  the  "  cannon- 
fever."  For  this  purpose  he  rode  to  a  place  in  which  he 
was  exposed  to  a  cross  fire  of  the  two  armies,  and  coolly 
watched  the  sensations  experienced  in  that  place  of 
peril. 

Command  of  himself,  acquired  by  long  and  systematic 
discipline,  gave  him  that  command  over  others  which 
he  exercised  in  several  memorable  instances.     Coming 


GOETHE.  261 

from  a  ball  one  night,  —  a  young  man  fresh  from  the 
University,  —  he  saw  that  a  fire  had  broken  out  in  the 
Judengasse,  and  that  people  were  standing  about  help- 
less and  confused  without  a  leader ;  he  immediately 
jumped  from  his  carriage,  and,  full-dressed  as  he  was, 
in  silk  stockings  and  pumps,  organized  on  the  spot  a 
fire-brigade,  which  averted  a  dangerous  conflagration. 
On  another  occasion,  voyaging  in  the  Mediterranean,  he 
quelled  a  mutiny  on  board  an  Italian  ship,  when  cap- 
tain and  mates  were  powerless,  and  the  vessel  drifting 
on  the  rocks,  by  commanding  sailors  and  passengers  to 
fall  on  their  knees  and  pray  to  the  Virgin,  —  adopting  the 
idiom  of  their  religion  as  well  as  their  speech,  of  which 
he  was  a  master. 

As  a  student,  first  at  Leipsic,  then  at  Strasburg,  in- 
cluding the  years  from  1766  to  1771,  he  seems  not  to 
have  been  a  very  diligent  attendant  on  the  lectures  in 
either  university,  and  to  have  profited  little  by  profes- 
sional instruction.  In  compliance  with  the  wishes  of 
his  father,  who  intended  him  for  a  jurist,  he  gave  some 
time  to  the  study  of  the  law  ;  but  on  the  whole  the  prin- 
cipal gain  of  those  years  was  derived  from  intercourse 
with  distinguished  intellectual  men  and  women,  whose 
acquaintance  he  cultivated,  and  the  large  opportunities 
of  social  life. 

In  Strasburg  occurred  the  famous  love-passage  with 
Friederike. Brian,  which  terminated  so  unhappily  at  the 
time,  and  so  fortunately  in  the  end,  for  both. 

Goethe  has  been  blamed  for  not  marrying  Friederike. 
His  real  blame  consists  in  the  heedlessness  with  which, 
in  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance,  he  surrendered 
himself  to  the  charm  of  her  presence,  thereby  engaging 
her   affection  without   a  thought   of  the   consequences 


262  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

to  either.  Besides  the  disillusion,  which  showed  him, 
when  he  came  fairly  to  face  the  question,  that  he  did 
not  love  her  sufficiently  to  justify  marriage,  there  were 
circumstances  —  material,  economical  —  which  made  it 
practically  impossible.  Her  suffering  in  the  separation, 
great  as  it  was,  —  so  great  indeed  as  to  cause  a  danger- 
ous attack  of  bodily  disease,  —  could  not  outweigh  the 
pangs  which  he  endured  in  his  penitent  contemplation 
of  the  consequences  of  his  folly. 

The  next  five  years  were  spent  partly  in  Frankfort 
and  partly  in  Wetzlar,  partly  in  the  forced  exercise  of 
his  profession,  but  chiefly  in  literary  labors  and  the  use 
of  the  pencil,  which  for  a  time  disputed  with  the  pen  the 
devotion  of  the  poet-artist.  They  may  be  regarded  as 
perhaps  the  most  fruitful,  certainly  the  most  growing, 
years  of  his  life.  They  gave  birth  to  "  Gotz  yon, Ber- 
lichingen"  and  the  "Sorrows  of  Werther,"  to  the  first 
inception  of  "Faust,"  and  to  many  of  his  sweetest  lyrics. 
It  was  during  this  period  that  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Charlotte  Buff,  the  heroine  of  the  "  Sorrows  of  Wer- 
ther," from  whom  he  finally  tore  himself  away,  leaving 
Wetzlar  when  he  discovered  that  their  growing  interest 
in  each  other  was  endangering  her  relation  with  Kestn^iu 
her  betrothed.  In  those  years,  also,  he  formed  a  matri- 
monial engagement  with  Elizabeth  Schonemann  (Liji), 
the  rupture  of  which,  I  must  think,  was  a  real  misfor- 
tune for  the  poet.  It  came  about  by  no  fault  of  his. 
Her  family  had  from  the  first  opposed  themselves  to  the 
match  on  the  ground  of  social  disparity.  For  even  in 
mercantile  Frankfort  rank  was  strongly  marked;  and 
the  Goethes,  though  respectable  people,  were  beneath 
the  Schonemanns  in  the  social  scale.  Goethe's  gen- 
ius went  for  nothing  with  Madam  Schonemann  ;   she 


GOETHE,  263 

wanted  for  her  daughter  an  aristocratic  husband,  not 
a  literary  one,  —  one  who  had  wealth  in  possession,  and 
not  merely,  as  Goethe  had,  in  prospect.  How  far  Lili 
was  influenced  by  her  mother's  and  brothers'  represen- 
tations it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  however,  she  showed 
herself  capricious,  was  sometimes  cold,  or  seemed  so  to 
him,  while  favoring  the  advances  of  others.  Goethe 
was  convinced  that  she  did  not  entertain  for  him  that 
devoted  love,  without  which  he  felt  that  their  union 
could  not  be  a  happy  one.  They  separated  ;  but  on  her 
death-bed  she  confessed  to  a  friend  that  all  she  was,  in- 
tellectually and  morally,  she  owed  to  him. 

In  1775  our  poet  was  invited  by  the  young  duke  of 
Saxe- Weimar,  Karl  August,  —  whose  acquaintance  he 
had  made  at  Frankfort  and  at  Mentz,  his  junior  by  two  or 
three  years,  —  to  establish  himself  in  civil  service  at  the 
Grand-Ducal^ourt.  The  father,  who  had  other  views  for 
his  son,  and  was  not  much  inclined  to  trust  in  princes, 
objected ;  many  wondered,  some  blamed.  Goethe  him- 
self appears  to  have  wavered  with  painful  indecision,  and 
at  last  to  have  followed  a  mysterious  impulse  rather  than 
a  clear  conviction  or  deliberate  choice.  His  Heidelberg 
friend  and  hostess  sought  still  to  detain  him,  when  the 
last  express  from  Weimar  drove  up  to  the  door.  To  her 
he  replied  in  the  words  of  his  own  Egmont :  — 

"  Say  no  more !  Goaded  by  invisible  spirits,  the  sun-steeds 
of  time  run  away  with  the  light  chariot  of  our  destiny  ;  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  keep  our  courage,  hold  tight  the  reins,  and 
guide  the  wheels  now  right,  now  left,  avoiding  a  stone  here,  a 
fall  there.  Whither  away  ?  Who  knows  ?  Scarcely  one  re- 
members whence  he  came." 

It  does  not  appear  that  he  ever  repented  this  most 
decisive  step  of  his  life-journey,  nor  does  there  appear  to 


264  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

have  been  any  reason  why  he  should.  A  position,  an 
office  of  some  kind,  he  needs  must  liave.  Even  now,  the 
life  of  a  writer  by  profession,  with  no  function  but  that 
of  literary  composition,  is  seldom  a  prosperous  one ;  in 
Goethe's  day,  when  literature  was  far  less  remunerative 
than  it  is  in  ours,  it  was  seldom  practicable.  Unless  he 
had  chosen  to  be  maintained  by  his  father,  some  em- 
ployment besides  that  of  book-making  was  an  imperative 
necessity.  The  alternative  of  that  which  was  offered  — 
the  one  his  father  would  have  chosen  —  was  that  of  a 
plodding  jurist  in  a  country  where  forensic  pleading 
was  unknown,  and  where  the  lawyer's  profession  offered 
no  scope  for  any  of  the  higher  talents  with  which  Goethe 
was  endowed.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  happy  chance  that 
called  him  to  the  little  capital  of  the  little  Grand-Duchy^Di- 
Saxe- Weimar.  If  the  State  was  one  of  petty  dimensions 
(a  kind  of  pocket-kingdom,  like  so  many  of  the  principal- 
ities of  Germany),  it  nevertheless  included  some  of  the 
fairest  localities,  and  one  at  least  of  the  most  memora- 
ble in  Europe,  —  the  Wartburg,  where  Luther  translated 
the  Bible,  where  Saint  Elizabeth  dispensed  the  blessings 
of  her  life,  where  the  Minnesingers  are  said  to  have 
held  their  poetic  tournament, — 

*'  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen, 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach." 

It  included  also  the  University  of  Jena,  which  at  that 
time  numbered  some  of  the  foremost  men  of  Germany 
among  its  professors.  It  was  a  miniature  State,  and  a 
miniature  town  ;  one  wonders  that  Goethe,  who  would 
have  shone  the  foremost  star  in  Berlin  or  Vienna,  could 
content  himself  with  so  narrow  a  field.  But  Vienna  and 
Berlin  did  not  call  him  until  it  was  too  late,  —  until 
patronage  was  needless ;  and  Weimar  did.    A  miniature 


GOETHE.  265 

State,  —  but  so  much  the  greater  his  power  and  freedom 
and  the  opportunity  of  beneficent  action. 

No  prince  was  ever  more  concerned  to  promote  in  every 
way  the  welfare  of  his  subjects  than  Karl  August ;  and  in 
all  his  works  undertaken  for  this  purpose,  Goethe  was  his 
foremost  counsellor  and  aid.  The  most  important  were 
either  suggested  by  him  or  executed  under  his  direction. 
Had  he  never  written  a  poem,  or  given  to  the  world  a 
single  literary  composition,  he  would  still  have  led,  as  a 
Weimar  official,  a  useful  and  beneficent  life.  But  the 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  business,  the  social  and 
other  experience  gained  in  this  way,  was  precisely  the 
training  which  he  needed  —  and  which  every  poet  needs 
—  for  the  broadening  and  deepening  and  perfection  of 
his  art.  Friedrich  von  Mliller,  in  his  valuable  treatise  of 
"  Goethe  as  a  Man  of  Affairs,"  tells  us  how  he  traversed 
every  portion  of  the  country  to  learn  what  advantage 
might  be  taken  of  topographical  peculiarities,  what  pro- 
vision made  for  local  necessities.  "  Everywhere  —  on 
hilltops  crowned  with  primeval  forests,  in  the  depths  of 
gorges  and  shafts — Nature  met  her  favorite  with  friendly 
advances,  and  revealed  to  him  many  a  desired  secret." 
Whatever  was  privately  gained  in  this  way  was  applied 
to  public  uses.  He  endeavored  to  infuse  new  life  into 
the  mining  business,  and  to  make  himself  familiar  with 
all  its  technical  requirements.  For  that  end  he  revived 
his  chemical  experiments.  New  roads  were  built,  hy- 
draulic operations  were  conducted  on  more  scientific 
principles,  fertile  meadows  were  won  from  the  river 
Saale  by  systematic  drainage,  and  in  many  a  struggle 
with  Nature  an  intelligently  persistent  will  obtained  the 
victory. 

Nor   was   it  with   material   obstacles   only  that   the 


266  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

poet-minister  had  to  contend.  In  the  exercise  of  the 
powers  intrusted  to  him  he  often  encountered  the  fierce 
opposition  of  party  interest  and  stubborn  prejudice,  and 
was  sometimes  driven  to  heroic  and  despotic  measures 
in  order  to  accomplish  a  desired  result,  —  as  when  he 
foiled  the  machinations  of  the  Jena  professors  in  his 
determination  to  save  the  University  library,  and  when, 
in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the  leading  burghers,  he 
demolished  the  city  wall. 

In  1786  Goethe  was  enabled  to  realize  his  cherished 
dream  of  a  journey  to  Italy.  There  he  spent  a  year  and 
a  half  in  the  diligent  study  and  admiring  enjoyment  of 
the  treasures  of  art  which  made  that  country  then,  even 
more  than  now,  the  mark  and  desire  of  the  civilized 
world.  He  came  back  an  altered  man.  Intellectually 
and  morally  he  had  made  in  that  brief  space,  under  new 
influences,  a  prodigious  stride.  His  sudden  advance 
while  they  had  remained  stationary  separated  him  from 
his  contemporaries.  The  old  associations  of  the  Weimar 
world,  which  still  revolved  its  little  round,  the  much- 
enlightened  traveller  had  outgrown.  People  thought 
him  cold  and  reserved.  It  was  only  that  the  gay,  im- 
pulsive youth  had  ripened  into  an  earnest,  sedate  man. 
He  found  Germany  jubilant  over  Schiller's  "  Robbers  " 
and  other  writings  representative  of  the  "  storm-and 
stress  "  school,  which  his  maturity  had  left  far  behind, 
his  own  contributions  to  which  he  had  come  to  hate. 
Schiller,  who  first  made  his  acquaintance  at  this  time, 
writes  to  Korner  :  — 

"  I  doubt  that  we  shall  ever  become  intimate.  Much  that  to 
me  is  still  of  great  interest  he  has  already  outlived.  He  is  so 
far  beyond  me,  not  so  much  in  years  as  in  experience  and  cul- 
ture, that  we  can  never  come  together  in  one  course." 


GOETHE.  267 

How  greatly  Schiller  erred  in  the  supposition  that 
they  never  could  become  intimate,  how  close  the  inti- 
macy which  grew  up  between  them,  what  harmony  of 
sentiment,  how  friendly  and  mutually  helpful  their  co- 
operation, is  sufficiently  notorious. 

But  such  was  the  first  aspect  which  Goethe  presented 
to  strangers  at  this  period  of  his  life ;  he  rather  re- 
pelled than  attracted,  until  nearer  acquaintance  learned 
rightly  to  interpret  the  man,  and  intellectual  or  moral 
afiinity  bridged  the  chasm  which  seemed  to  divide  him 
from  his  kind.  In  part,  too,  the  distance  and  reserve  of 
which  people  complained  was  a  necessary  measure  of 
self-defence  against  the  disturbing  importunities  of  social 
life.  ''  From  Rome,"  says  Friedrich  von  Miiller,  "  from 
the  midst  of  the  richest  and  grandest  life,  dates  the 
stern  maxim  of  '  Renunciation  '  which  governed  his  sub- 
sequent being  and  doing,  and  which  furnished  his  only 
guarantee  of  mental  equipoise  and  peace." 

His  literary  works  hitherto  had  been  spasmodic  and 
lawless  effusions,  the  escapes  of  a  gushing,  turbulent 
youth.  In  Rome  he  had  learned  the  sacred  significance 
of  art.  The  consciousness  of  his  true  vocation  had  been 
awakened  in  him ;  and  to  that,  on  the  eve  of  his  fortieth 
year,  he  thenceforth  solemnly  devoted  the  remainder  of 
his  life.  He  obtained  release  from  the  more  onerous  of 
his  official  engagements,  retaining  only  such  functions 
as  accorded  with  his  proper  calling  as  a  man  of  letters 
and  of  science.  He  renounced  his  daily  intercourse  with 
Frau  von  Stein,  though  still  retaining  and  manifesting 
his  unabated  friendship  for  the  woman  to  whom  in 
former  years  he  had  devoted  so  large  a  portion  of  his 
time,  and  employed  himself  in  giving  forth  those  im- 
mortal   words  which  have   settled    forever    his    place 


268  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

among  the  stars  of  first  magnitude  in  the  intellectual 
world. 

Noticeable  and  often  noted  was  the  charm  and  (when 
arrived  to  maturity)  the  grand  effect  of  his  personal  pres- 
ence. Physical  beauty  is  not  the  stated  accompaniment, 
nor  even  the  presumable  adjunct,  of  intellectual  great- 
ness. In  Goethe,  as  perhaps  in  no  other,  the  two  were 
combined.  A  wondrous  presence  !  —  on  this  point  the 
voices  are  one  and  the  witnesses  many.  "  Goethe  was 
with  us,"  so  writes  Heinse  to  one  of  his  friends ;  "  a 
beautiful  youth  of  twenty-five,  full  of  genius  and  force 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot ;  a 
heart  full  of  feeling,  a  spirit  full  of  fire,  who  with  eagle 
wings  ruit  immensus  ore  profundoy  Jacobi  writes : 
"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  impossible  it  seems 
to  me  to  communicate  to  any  one  who  has  not  seen 
Goethe  any  conception  of  this  extraordinary  creature 
of  God."  Lavater  says  :  "  Unspeakably  sweet,  an  in- 
describable appearance,  the  most  terrible  and  lovable 
of  men."  Hufeland,  the  chief  medical  celebrity  of  Ger- 
many, describes  his  appearance  in  early  manhood  : 
*' Never  shall  I  forget  the  impression  which  he  made  as 
'  Orestes  '  in  Greek  costume.  You  thought  you  beheld 
an  Apollo.  Never  was  seen  in  any  man  such  union  of 
physical  and  spiritual  perfection  and  beauty  as  at  that 
time  in  Goethe."  More  remarkable  still  is  the  testimony 
of  Wieland,  who  had  reason  to  be  offended,  having  been 
before  their  acquaintance  the  subject  of  Goethe's  sharp 
satire.  But  immediately  at  their  first  meeting,  sitting 
at  table  '•'  by  the  side,"  he  says,  "  of  this  glorious  youth, 
I  was  radically  cured  of  all  my  vexation  ....  Since  this 
morning,"  he  wrote  to  Jacobi,  "  my  soul  is  as  full  of 
Goethe  as  a  dew-drop  is  of  the  morning  sun."     And  to 


GOETHE.  269 

Zimmermann :  "  He  is  in  every  respect  the  greatest,  best, 
most  splendid  human  being  that  ever  God  created." 
Goethe  was  then  twenty-six.  Henry  Crabbe  Robinson, 
who  saw  him  at  the  age  of  fifty-two,  reports  him  one  of 
the  most  *'  oppressively  handsome  "  men  he  had  ever 
seen,  and  speaks  particularly,  as  all  who  have  described 
him  speak,  of  his  wonderfully  brilliant  eyes.  Those  eyes, 
we  are  told,  had  lost  nothing  of  their  lustre,  nor  his 
head  its  natural  covering,  at  the  age  of  eighty. 

Among  the  heroic  qualities  notable  in  Goethe,  I 
reckon  his  faithful  and  unflagging  industry.  Here  was 
a  man  who  took  pains  with  himself,  —  liess  sich  's  sauer 
werden,  —  and  made  the  most  of  himself.  He  speaks 
of  wasting,  while  a  student  in  Leipsic,  "  the  beautiful 
time  ; "  and  certainly  neither  at  Leipsic  nor  afterward 
at  Strasburg  did  he  toil  as  his  Wagner  in  "  Faust " 
would  have  done.  But  he  was  always  learning.  In  the 
lecture-room  or  out  of  it,  with  pen  and  books  or  gay 
companions,  he  was  taking  in,  to  give  forth  again  in  dra- 
matic or  philosophic  form  the  world  of  his  experience. 

A  frolicsome  youth  may  leave  something  to  regret  in 
the  way  of  time  misspent ;  but  Goethe  the  man  was 
no  dawdler,  no  easy-going  Epicurean.  On  the  whole, 
he  made  the  most  of  himself,  and  stands  before  the 
world  a  notable  instance  of  a  complete  life.  He  would 
do  the  work  which  was  given  him  to  do.  He  would  not 
die  till  the  second  part  of  "  Faust "  was  brought  to  it 
predetermined  close.  By  sheer  force  of  will  he  lived  till 
that  work  was  done.  Smitten  at  four-score  by  the  death 
of  his  son,  and  by  deaths  all  around,  he  kept  to  his  task. 
"  The  idea  of  duty  alone  sustains  me  ;  the  spirit  is  wil- 
ling, the  flesh  must."  When  "  Faust "  was  finished,  the 
strain  relaxed.     "  My  remaining  days,"  he  said,  "  I  may 


270  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

consider  a  free  gift ;  it  matters  little  what  I  do  now,  or 
whether  I  do  anything."    And  six  months  later  he  died. 

A  complete  life  !  A  life  of  strenuous  toil !  At  home 
and  abroad,  —  in  Italy  and  Sicily,  at  Ilmenau  and  Carls- 
bad, as  in  his  study  at  Weimar,  —  with  eye  or  pen  or 
speech,  he  was  always  at  work.  A  man  of  rigid  habits ; 
no  lolling  or  lounging.  "  He  showed  me,"  says  Ecker- 
mann,  "  an  elegant  easy  chair  which  he  had  bought  to- 
day at  auction.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  I  shall  never  or  rarely 
use  it ;  all  indolent  habits  are  against  my  nature.  You 
see  in  my  chamber  no  sofa ;  I  sit  always  in  my  old 
wooden  chair,  and  never,  till  a  few  weeks  ago,  have 
permitted  even  a  leaning  place  for  my  head  to  be  added. 
If  surrounded  by  tasteful  furniture  my  thoughts  are 
arrested  ;  I  am  placed  in  an  agreeable  but  passive  state. 
Unless  we  are  accustomed  to  them  from  early  youth, 
splendid  chambers  and  elegant  furniture  had  better  be 
left  to  people  without  thoughts.'  "  This  in  his  eighty- 
second  year ! 

A  widely-diffused  prejudice  regarding  the  personal 
character  of  Goethe  refuses  to  credit  him  with  any 
moral  worth  accordant  with  his  bodily  and  mental  gifts. 
It  figures  him  a  libertine,  —  heartless,  loveless,  bad.  I 
do  not  envy  the  mental  condition  of  those  who  can  rest 
in  the  belief  that  a  really  great  poet  can  be  a  bad  man. 
Be  assured  that  the  fruits  of  genius  have  never  grown, 
and  will  never  grow,  in  such  a  soil.  Of  all  great  poets 
Byron  might  seem  at  first  glance  to  constitute  an  ex- 
ception to  this  —  I  venture  to  call  it  —  law  of  Nature. 
Yet  hear  what  Walter  Scott,  a  sufficient  judge,  said  of 
Byron :  — 

"  The  errors  of  Lord  Byron  arose  neither  from  depravity  of 
heart  —  for  Nature  had  not  committed  the  anomaly  of  uniting 


GOETHE.  271 

to  such  extraordinary  talents  an  imperfect  moral  sense  —  nor 
from  feelings  dead  to  the  admiration  of  virtue.  No  man  had 
ever  a  kinder  heart  for  sympathy,  or  a  more  open  hand  for  the 
relief  of  distress ;  and  no  mind  was  ever  more  formed  for  enthu- 
siastic admiration  of  noble  actions." 

The  case  of  Goethe  requires  no  appeal  to  general 
principles.  It  only  requires  that  the  charges  against 
him  be  fairly  investigated;  that  he  be  tried  by  docu- 
mentary evidence,  and  by  the  testimony  of  competent 
witnesses.  The  mistake  is  made  of  confusing  breaches 
of  conventional  decorum  with  essential  depravity. 

That  Goethe  was  faulty  in  many  ways  may  be  freely 
conceded.  But  surely  there  is  a  wide  difference  between 
not  being  faultless  and  being  definitively  bad.  To  call 
a  man  bad,  is  to  say  that  the  evil  in  him  preponderates 
over  the  good.  In  the  case  of  Goethe  the  balance  was 
greatly  the  other  way.  It  has  been  said  that  he  abused 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  women;  that  he  en- 
couraged affection  which  he  did  not  reciprocate,  for 
artistic  purposes.  The  charge  is  utterly  groundless ; 
and  in  the  case  of  Bettine  has  been  refuted  by  irrefra- 
gable proof.  To  say  that  he  was  wanting  in  love,  heart- 
less, cold,  is  ridiculously  false.  Yet  the  charge  is  con- 
stantly reiterated  in  the  face  of  facts,  —  reiterated  with 
undoubting  assurance,  and  a  certain  complacency  which 
seems  to  say,  "  Thank  God  !  we  are  not  as  this  man 
was.''  There  is  a  satisfaction  which  some  people  feel 
in  spotting  their  man,  —  Burns  drank ;  Coleridge  took 
opium ;  Byron  was  a  rake  ;  Goethe  was  cold  :  by  these 
marks  we  know  them.  The  poet  found  it  necessary,  as 
I  have  said,  in  later  years,  under  social  pressure,  for  the 
sake  of  the  work  which  was  given  him  to  do,  to  fortify 
himself  with  a  mail  of  reserve.     And  this,  indeed,  con- 


272  HOURS  WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

trasted  strangely  with  his  former  abandon^  and  with  the 
customary  gush  of  German  sentimentality.  It  was  com- 
mon then  for  Germans  who  had  known  each  other  by 
report,  and  were  mutually  attracted,  when  first  they 
met,  to  fall  on  each  other's  necks  and  kiss  and  weep. 
Goethe,  as  a  young  man,  had  indulged  such  fervors  ; 
but  in  old  age  he  had  lost  this  effusiveness,  or  saw  fit 
to  restrain  himself  outwardly,  while  his  kindly  nature 
still  glowed  with  its  pristine  fires.  He  wrote  to  Frau 
von  Stein,  "  I  may  truly  say  that  my  innermost  condi- 
tion does  not  correspond  to  my  outward  behavior." 
Hence,  the  charge  of  coldness.  Say  that  Mount  ^tna 
is  cold  :  do  we  not  see  the  snow  on  its  sides  ? 

But  he  was  unpatriotic ;  he  occupied  himself  with 
poetry,  and  did  not  cry  out  while  his  country  was  in 
the  death-throes  —  so  it  seemed  —  of  the  struggle  with 
France  !  But  what  should  he  have  done  ?  What  could 
he  have  done  ?  What  would  his  single  arm  or  dec- 
lamation have  availed  ?  No  man  more  than  Goethe 
longed  for  the  rehabilitation  of  Germany.  In  his  own 
way  he  wrought  for  that  end ;  he  could  work  effectu- 
ally in  no  other.  That  enigmatical  composition,  —  the 
"  Marchen,"  —  according  to  the  latest  interpretation  in- 
dicates how,  in  Goethe's  view,  that  end  was  to  be  accom- 
plished. To  one  who  considers  the  relation  of  ideas  to 
events,  it  will  not  seem  extravagant  when  I  say  that  to 
Goethe,  more  than  to  any  one  individual,  Germany  is 
indebted  for  her  emancipation,  independence,  and  pres- 
ent political  regeneration. 

It  is  true,  his  writings  contain  no  declamations  against 
tyrants,  and  no  tirades  in  favor  of  liberty.  He  believed 
that  oppression  existed  only  through  ignorance  and  blind- 
ness, and  these  he  was  all  his  life-long  seeking  to  remove. 


GOETHE.  273 

He  believed  that  true  liberty  is  attainable  only  through 
mental  illumination,  and  that  he  was  all  his  life-long 
seeking  to  promote. 

He  was  no  agitator,  no  revolutionist ;  he  had  no  faith 
in  violent  measures.  Human  welfare,  he  judged,  is  not 
to  be  advanced  in  that  way  ;  is  less  dependent  on  forms 
of  polity  than  on  the  life  within.  But  if  the  test  of 
patriotism  is  the  service  rendered  to  one's  country,  who 
more  patriotic  than  he  ?  Lucky  for  us  and  the  world 
that  he  persisted  to  serve  her  in  his  own  way,  and  not 
as  the  agitators  claimed  that  he  should.  It  was  clear  to 
him  then,  and  must  be  clear  to  us  now,  that  he  could 
not  have  been  what  they  demanded,  and  at  the  same 
time  have  given  to  his  country  and  the  world  what 
he  did. 

As  a  courtier  and  favorite  of  Fortune,  it  was  inevitable 
that  Goethe  should  have  enemies.  They  have  done  what 
they  could  to  blacken  his  name ;  and  to  this  day  the 
shadow  they  have  cast  upon  it  in  part  remains.  But  of 
this  be  sure,  that  no  selfish,  loveless  egoist  could  have 
had  and  retained  such  friends.  The  man  whom  the 
saintly  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  chose  for  her  friend, 
whom  clear-sighted,  stern-judging  Herder  declared  that 
he  loved  as  he  did  his  own  soul ;  the  man  whose  thought- 
ful kindness  is  celebrated  by  Herder's  incomparable 
wife,  whom  Karl  August  and  the  Duchess  Luise  cher- 
ished as  a  brother ;  the  man  whom  children  everywhere 
welcomed  as  their  ready  play-fellow  and  sure  ally, 
of  whom  pious  Jung  Stilling  lamented  that  admirers 
of  Goethe's  genius  knew  so  little  of  the  goodness  of 
his  heart,  —  can  this  have  been  a  bad  man,  heartless, 
cold? 


18 


274:  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


II.  — GOETHE  AS   WRITER. 

I  HAVE  said  that  to  Goethe,  above  all  writers,  belongs 
the  distinction  of  having  excelled,  not  experimented 
merely,  —  that,  others  have  also  done,  —  but  excelled  in 
many  distinct  kinds.  To  the  lyrist  he  added  the  drama- 
tist, to  the  dramatist  the  novelist,  to  the  novelist  the 
mystic  seer,  and  to  all  these  the  naturalist  and  scientific 
discoverer.  The  history  of  literature  exhibits  no  other 
instance  in  which  a  great  poet  has  supplemented  his 
proper  orbit  with  so  wide  an  epicycle. 

In  poetry,  as  in  science,  the  ground  of  his  activity  was 
a  passionate  love  of  Nature,  which  dates  from  his  boy- 
hood. At  the  age  of  fifteen,  recovering  from  a  sickness 
caused  by  disappointment  in  a  boyish  affair  of  the  heart, 
he  betook  himself  with  his  sketch-book  to  the  woods. 
"  In  the  farthest  depth  of  the  forest,"  he  says,  "  I  sought 
out  a  solemn  spot,  where  ancient  oaks  and  beeches  formed 
a  shady  retreat.  A  slight  declivity  of  the  soil  made  the 
merit  of  the  ancient  boles  more  conspicuous.  This  space 
was  inclosed  by  a  thicket  of  bushes,  between  which  peeped 
moss-covered  rocks,  mighty  and  venerable,  affording  a 
rapid  fall  to  an  affluent  brook." 

The  sketches  made  of  these  objects  at  that  early  age 
could  have  had  no  artistic  value,  although  the  methodi- 
cal father  was  careful  to  mount  and  preserve  them.  But 
what  the  pencil,  had  it  been  the  pencil  of  the  greatest 
master,  could  never  glean  from  scenes  like  these,  what 
art  could  never  grasp,  what  words  can  never  formulate, 
the  heart  of  the  boy  then  imbibed,  assimilated,  resolved 
in  his  innermost  being.     There  awoke  in  him  then  those 


GOETHE.  275 

mysterious  feelings,  those  unutterable  yearnings,  that 
pensive  joy  in  the  contemplation  of  Nature,  which  leav- 
ened all  his  subsequent  life,  and  the  influence  of  which 
is  so  perceptible  in  his  poetry,  especially  in  his  lyrics. 
It  inspired  among  others  the  wild  little  poem  called 

"GANYMEDE." 

How  in  morning  splendor 

Thou  round  me  glowest, 

Spring  beloved ! 

How  through  my  heart  thrills 

The  holy  joy 

Of  thy  warmth  eternal, 

Infinite  Beauty! 

Oh,  that  I  might  clasp  thee 

Within  these  arms! 

Lo !  on  thy  breast  here 

Prone  I  languish, 

And  thy  flowers  and  thy  grass 

Press  themselves  on  my  heart. 

*  Thou  coolest  the  torturing 

Thirst  of  my  bosom, 

Love-breathing  morning  wind,* 

Warbles  the  nightingale. 

Summoning  me  from  the  misty  vale. 

I  come,  I  come! 

Whither,  ah !  whither? 

Up,  upward  it  draws  me. 
The  clouds  are  nearing ; 
Downward  the  clouds  stoop, 
Bend  to  love's  yearning. 
Here !     Here ! 
In  your  embraces 
Upward. 

Embracing,  embraced,  up  I 
Up  to  thy  bosom. 
All-loving  Father  I 


276  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  first  literary  venture  by  which  Goethe  became 
widely  known  was  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  a  dramatic 
picture  of  the  sixteenth  century,  in  which  the  principal 
figure  is  a  predatory  noble  of  that  name.  A  dramatic 
picture,  but  not  in  any  true  sense  a  play,  it  owed  its 
popularity  at  the  time  partly  to  the  truth  of  its  portrait- 
ures, partly  to  its  choice  of  a  native  subject  and  the 
truly  German  feeling  which  pervades  it.  It  was  a  new 
departure  in  German  literature,  and  perplexed  the  critics 
as  much  as  it  delighted  the  general  public.  It  antici- 
pated by  a  quarter  of  a  century  what  is  technically  called 
the  Romantic  School. 

"  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  "  was  soon  followed  by  the 
"  Sorrows  of  Werther,"  one  of  those  books  which,  on 
their  first  appearance  have  taken  the  world  by  storm, 
and  of  which  Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  is  the 
latest  example.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that  a  great 
poet  should  have  won  his  first  laurels  by  prose  compo- 
sition. Sir  Walter  Scott  eclipsed  the  splendor  of  his 
poems  by  the  popularity  of  the  Waverley  novels.  Goethe 
eclipsed  the  world-wide  popularity  of  his  "  Werther  "  by 
the  splendor  of  his  poems. 

Of  one  who  was  great  in  so  many  kinds,  it  may  seem 
difficult  to  decide  in  what  department  he  most  excelled. 
Without  undertaking  to  measure  and  compare  what  is 
incommensurable,  I  hold  that  Goethe's  genius  is  essen- 
tially lyrical.  Whatever  else  may  be  claimed  for  him, 
he  is  first  of  all,  and  chiefly,  a  singer.  Deepest  in  his 
nature,  the  most  innate  of  all  his  faculties,  was  the 
faculty  of  song,  of  rhythmical  utterance.  The  first  to 
manifest  itself  in  childhood,  it  was  still  active  at  the  age 
of  fourscore.     The  lyrical  portions  of  the  second  part  of 


GOETHE.  277 

"  Faust,"  some  of  which  were  written  a  short  time  before 
his  death,  are  as  spirited,  the  versification  as  easy,  the 
rhythm  as  perfect,  as  the  songs  of  his  youth. 

As  a  lyrist  he  is  unsurpassed,  I  venture  to  say  un- 
equalled, if  we  take  into  view  the  whole  wide  range  of 
his  performance  in  this  kind,  —  from  the  ballads,  the  best 
known  of  his  smaller  poems,  and  those  light  fugitive 
pieces,  those  bursts  of  song  which  came  to  him  without 
effort,  and  with  such  a  rush  that  in  order  to  arrest  and 
preserve  them  he  seized,  as  he  tells  us,  the  first  scrap 
of  paper  that  came  to  hand  and  wrote  upon  it  diagonally, 
if  it  happened  so  to  lie  on  his  table,  lest,  through  the 
delay  of  selecting  and  placing,  the  inspiration  should  be 
checked  and  the  poem  evaporate,  —  from  these  to  such 
stately  compositions  as  the  "  Zueignung,"  or  dedica- 
tion of  his  poems,  the  "  Weltseele  "  and  the  "  Orphic 
Sayings,^'  —  in  short,  from  poetry  that  writes  itself,  that 
springs  spontaneously  in  the  mind,  to  poetry  that  is 
written  with  elaborate  art.  There  is  this  distinction, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  most  marked  in  lyric  verse.  Com- 
pare in  English  poetry,  by  way  of  illustration,  the 
snatches  of  song  in  Shakspeare's  plays  with  Shak- 
speare's  sonnets ;  compare  Burns  with  Gray ;  compare 
Jean  Ingelow  with  Browning. 

Goethe's  ballads  have  an  undying  popularity ;  they 
have  been  translated,  and  most  of  them  are  familiar  to 
English  readers.  Here  is  a  translation  of  one  of  them 
which  has  never  been  published. 

THE  FISHER. 

The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled; 

A  fisher  seated  nigh 
Cool  to  the  heart  his  angle  held, 

And  watched  with  tranquil  eye. 


278  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

And  as  he  sits  and  watches  there, 

Behold  the  waves  divide ; 
With  dripping  hair  a  maiden  fair 
Uprises  from  the  tide. 

She  sang  to  him,  she  spake  to  him: 

'*  With  human  arts,  Oh,  why. 
Why  lurest  thou  my  favored  brood 

In  daylight's  glow  to  die  ? 
Ah,  knewest  thou  how  cheerily 

The  little  fishes  fare, 
Thou  'dst  dive  with  me  beneath  the  sea 

And  find  contentment  there. 

*'  Doth  not  the  blessed  sun  at  noon 

His  beams  in  ocean  lave  ? 
Doth  not  the  ripple- breathing  moon 

Look  lovelier  in  the  wave  ? 
Doth  not  the  deep-down  heaven  invite 

The  wave-transfigured  blue  ? 
Doth  not  thine  own  fair  face  delight, 

Seen  through  the  eternal  dew?  " 

The  water  rushed,  the  water  swelled, 

It  laved  his  naked  feet; 
A  longing  through  his  bosom  thrilled 

As  when  two  lovers  greet. 
She  spake  to  him,  she  sang  to  him,  — 

With  him  then  all  was  o'er. 
She  half  compels,  while  half  he  wills. 

And  straight  is  seen  no  more. 

Of  the  lyric  poems  there  are  some  which  form  a  class 
by  themselves,  —  unrhymed  lyrics ;  and  not  only  un- 
rhymed  but  without  fixed  metre,  the  measure  varying 
with  every  line.  They  have  a  nameless  charm,  which 
makes  us  forget  our  metrical  traditions.  In  these  poems 
the  author,  like  Pindar,  numeris  fertur  lege  solutis. 
Such  are  the  pieces  entitled  "  Meine  Gottin,"  "  Gesang 


GOETHE.  279 

der  Geister  iiber  den  Wassern,"  "  Mahomet's  Gesang,' 
"  Schwager  Kronos,"  "  Wanderer's  Sturmlied,"  "•  Pro- 
metheus," "  Ganymed,"  "  Grenzen  der  Menschheit," 
"  Das  Gottliche,"  etc.  The  "  Harzreise  im  Winter " 
(a  journey  to  the  Harz  in  the  winter)  was  suggested  by 
an  actual  journey  which  Goethe  made  on  horseback  from 
Weimar  to  the  Harz  mountains  in  winter.  The  journey 
had  three  distinct  aims,  which  furnish  the  three  motives 
of  the  poem.  First,  he  wished  to  visit  the  iron  mines  of 
the  Harz  with  a  view  to  the  resumption  of  work  in  cer- 
tain old  mines  in  the  Duchy  of  Weimar.  Secondly,  he 
meant  to  visit  a  misanthropic  youth  in  Clausthal,  who 
had  written  to  him  for  sympathy.  And  lastly,  he  had 
agreed  to  join  a  party  of  sportsmen  from  Weimar  who 
were  intending  to  hunt  bears  and  wild  boar,  which  then 
abounded  in  that  locality.  So  much  is  necessary  to  ex- 
plain the  allusions  in  the  piece. 

HARZ-JOURNEY  IN   WINTER. 

As  soars  the  hawk 

On  heavy  morning  clouds, 

With  downy  pinions  resting, 

Intent  on  prey, 

Soar  thou  my  song ! 

For  a  God  hath  to  each 

His  path  prescribed, 

Where  the  happy  rush  swift 

To  the  joyful  goal. 

But  he  whose  heart  is 

Shrunk  with  misfortune, 

He  vainly  struggles 

Against  the  strong  bond 

Of  the  iron  thread, 

Which  only  the  Fate's  bitter  shears 

Shall  one  day  sever. 


280  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

To  awful  thickets 
Press  the  wild  game, 
And  together  with  the  sparrows 
Long  since  the  wealthy- 
Have  slunk  to  their  bogs. 

'Tis  easy  following 
Where  Fortune  leads, 
Like  the  comfortable  train 
On  mended  ways  after 
A  prince's  entrance. 

But  who  goes  apart  there? 

His  path  is  lost  in  the  bush. 

Behind  him  the  thicket 

Closes  together; 

The  grass  stands  straight  again, 

The  desert  devours  him. 

His  wounds  who  shall  heal 

To  whom  balm  became  poison? 

Who  out  of  love's  fulness 

Drank  hatred  of  man? 

First  despised,  then  a  despiser, 

Devouring  in  secret 

His  own  worth  in 

Unsatisfied  selfhood? 

Is  there,  Father  of  love, 
A  tone  in  thy  psalter 
That  can  speak  to  his  ear?  — 
Oh,  comfort  his  heart! 
Ope  thou  his  clouded  eye 
To  the  thousand  springs 
That  beside  him  in  the  desert 
Gush  for  the  thirsting. 

Thou  who  createst 

Joys  in  abundance 

So  each  one's  cup  runneth  over, 

Bless  the  brothers  of  the  chase 

On  the  track  of  their  game, 


GOETHE.  281 

In  youthful  wantonness 

Of  frolic  slaughter, 

Late  avengers  of  the  mischief 

Against  which  vainly 

For  years  the  peasant 

Strove  with  his  club. 

But  envelop  the  lone  one 

In  thy  gold  clouds ! 

With  winter  green  entwine,  Love, 

Till  blossoms  the  rose  again, 

The  moist  locks  of  thy  poet ! 

With  torch  dimly  gleaming 
Thou  lightest  him 
Through  fords  by  night, 
Over  ways  that  are  fathomless. 
Through  fields  that  are  desolate ; 
With  the  thousand-colored  morning 
Laugh'st  into  the  heart  of  him, 
With  the  biting  storm 
Thou  bearest  him  aloft. 
Winter-streams  from  the  rock 
Rush  into  his  psalms, 
And  an  altar  of  sweetest  thanksgiving 
Is  to  him  the  dreaded  mountain's 
Snow-piled  summit, 
With  spirit-forms  crowned 
By  boding  nations. 

Thou  1  standest  with  unexplored  bosom, 

Mysteriously  revealed 

Above  the  astonished  world. 

And  gazest  through  clouds 

On  their  realms  and  their  glory. 

Which  thou  waterest  from  the  veins 

Of  thy  brothers  beside  thee. 

"  Mahomet's  Song "  describes  the  course  of  a  river, 
and  is  meant  to  typify  the  progress  of  a  great  religious 

1  The  Brocken. 


282  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

dispensation.  It  is  a  fragment  that  remains  of  the  plan 
of  a  drama  which  Goethe  meditated,  having  for  its 
theme  the  life  of  Mahomet. 

MAHOMET'S  SONG. 

See  the  rock-born  spring, 

Joy-glittering 

Like  a  star-gleam ! 

Above  the  clouds  his 

Youth  was  nourished 

By  kind  spirits 

In  the  bush  amid  the  clifEs. 

Youthful,  fresh, 

From  the  cloud  he  dances  down,  — 

Down  upon  the  marble  rocks,  and  thence 

Shouts  back  again 

Toward  heaven. 

Through  mountain-passes 
He  chases  the  gay  pebbles, 
And  with  early  leader-step 
Sweeps  along  with  him 
His  brother  fountains. 

In  the  valley  down  below 
Flowers  spring  beneath  his  step, 
And  the  meadow 
Lives  by  his  breath. 

But  no  valley's  shade  detains  him. 

And  no  flowers 

That  cling  about  his  knees, 

And  flatter  him  with  eyes  of  love. 

Toward  the  plain  his  course  he  steers 

Serpentining. 

Brooklets  nestle 

Fondly  to  his  side.     He  enters 

Now  the  plain  in  silvery  splendor, 


GOETHE.  283 

And  the  plain  his  splendor  shares. 

And  the  rivers  from  the  plain, 

And  the  torrents  from  the  mountains 

Shout  to  him  and  clamor:  "Brother! 

Brother !  take  thy  brothers  with  thee,  — - 

With  thee,  to  thy  ancient  father, 

To  the  everlasting  ocean, 

Who  with  outstretched  arms  awaits  us. 

Arms,  alas !  which  vainly  open 

To  embrace  his  longing  children. 

For  the  greedy  sand  devours  us 

In  the  dreary  waste ;  the  sun-beams 

Suck  our  blood,  or  else  a  hill 

To  a  pool  confines  us.     Brother! 

Take  thy  brothers  from  the  plain ! 

Take  thy  brothers  from  the  mountains  I 

Take  them  with  thee  to  thy  sire." 

Come  ye  all,  then ! 

Now  in  grander  volume  swelling, 

All  his  kindred 

Proudly  bear  their  prince  aloft! 

And  in  rolling  triumph  he 

Gives  names  to  countries ;  cities 

Start  to  life  beneath  his  feet. 

Irrepressibly  he  rushes, 

Leaves  the  city's  flaming  spires; 

Domes  of  marble,  a  creation 

Of  his  wealth,  he  leaves  behind. 

Cedar-palaces  the  Atlas 
Bears  upon  his  giant  shoulders; 
Over  him  a  thousand  banners 
Rustle  waving  in  the  breeze, 
Testifying  of  his  glory. 

Thus  he  bears  along  his  brothers. 
And  his  treasures  and  his  children; 
Thundering  joy  he  bears  them  on 
To  the  waiting  father's  heart. 


284  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

In  the  Elegies  written  after  his  return  from  Italy,  the 
author  figures  as  a  classic  poet  inspired  by  the  Latin 
Muse.  The  choicest  of  these  elegies  —  the  "  Alexis  und 
Dora  "  —  is  not  so  much  an  imitation  of  the  ancients  as 
it  is  the  manifestation  of  a  side  of  the  poet's  nature 
which  he  had  in  common  with  the  ancients.  He  wrote 
as  a  Greek  or  Roman  might  write,  because  he  felt  his 
subject  as  a  Greek  or  Roman  might  feel  it. 

"  Hermann  und  Dorothea,"  which  Schiller  pronounced 
the  acme  not  only  of  Goethean  but  of  all  modern  art, 
was  written  professedly  as  an  attempt  in  the  Homeric  ^ 
style,  motived  by  Wolfs  "  Prolegomena "  and  Yoss's 
"  Luise."  It  is  Homeric  only  in  its  circumstantiality, 
in  the  repetition  of  the  same  epithets  applied  to  the 
same  persons,  and  in  the  Greek  realism  of  Goethe's 
nature.  The  theme  is  very  un-Homeric ;  it  is  thoroughly 
modern  and  German,  — 

"  Germans  themselves  I  present,  to  the  humbler  dwelling  I  lead 
you, 
Where  with  Nature  as  guide  man  is  natural  still."  ^ 

This  exquisite  poem  has  been  translated  into  English 
hexameters  with  great  fidelity,  by  Miss  Ellen  Frothing- 
ham. 

"  Iphigenie  auf  Tauris  "  handles  a  Greek  theme,  ex- 
hibits Greek  characters,  and  was  hailed  on  its  first 
appearance  as  a  genuine  echo  of  the  Greek  drama. 
Mr.  Lewes  denies  it  that  character ;  and  certainly  it  is 
not  Greek,  but  Christian,  in  sentiment.  It  differs  from 
the  extant  drama  of  Euripides,  who  treats  the  same 
subject,  in  the  Christian  feeling  which  determines  its 
denouement. 

1  "  Doch  Homeride  zu  sein,  auch  noch  als  letzter,  ist  schon." 

2  From  the  Elegy  entitled  "  Hermann  und  Dorothea." 


GOETHE.  285 

Iphigenia,  having  escaped  the  sacrifice  to  which  she 
was  doomed  at  Aulis,  by  the  interposition  of  Diana,  is 
conveyed  by  the  Goddess  to  Tauris.  There,  having 
gained  the  favor  of  Thoas,  king  of  the  country,  she  be- 
comes a  priestess  of  Diana,  but  continues  to  lament  her 
exile.  Her  brother  Orestes,  who  has  slain  his  mother 
to  avenge  the  murder  of  Agamemnon,  and  for  this  act 
is  pursued  by  the  Furies,  consults  the  oracle  at  Delphos, 
and  is  bidden  by  Apollo,  as  the  price  of  his  release,  to 
fetch  his  sister  from  Tauris.  Orestes  understands  by 
this  Apollo's  sister  Diana,  whose  image  he  is  to  capture 
and  bring  to  Greece ;  he  does  not  know  that  his  own 
sister  is  still  living.  He  proceeds  to  Tauris  with  his 
friend  Pylades.  But  the  custom  of  Tauris  requires  that 
every  stranger  who  lands  on  the  coast  shall  be  sacrificed 
to  Diana.  Accordingly,  the  two  friends  are  seized  and 
brought  to  the  temple,  where  Iphigenia  is  to  prepare  the 
sacrifice.  A  recognition  takes  place  between  brother 
and  sister ;  and  this  is  the  most  effective  passage  in  the 
play  of  "  Euripides,"  and  one  of  the  most  pathetic  in  the 
Greek  drama.  The  problem  now  is  how  the  sacrifice 
may  be  evaded,  and  Iphigenia  escape  from  Tauris  with 
her  brother  and  his  friend.  Here  it  is  that  the  ancient 
and  modern  treatment  of  the  theme  diverge  most  widely. 
Euripides  solves  the  problem  by  an  act  of  fraud.  Under 
pretence  of  purifying  the  image,  which  had  been  pol- 
luted by  the  touch  of  one  guilty  of  kindred  blood,  it  is 
carried  to  the  sea,  where  the  Grecian  vessel  waits,  and 
secretly  conveyed  on  board.  The  friends  embark ;  Thoas 
pursues  them,  but  Athena  appears  and  announces  the 
will  of  the  Gods  that  they  should  be  suffered  to  depart 
in  peace.  To  Goethe,  whose  aim  was  to  represent  Iphi- 
genia  a   model   of  feminine   dignity,   as   the   saint  by 


286  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

whose  virtue  the  guilt  resting  on  the  house  of  Atreus  is 
atoned,  fraud  seemed  inconsistent  with  such  a  char- 
acter. He  solves  the  problem  partly  by  a  different 
interpretation  of  the  oracle  which  occurs  to  Orestes,  — 
namely,  that  by  the  sister  whom  he  was  to  bring  away 
was  meant  not  Apollo's  but  his  ow7i  sister ;  and  partly 
by  the  moral  influence  which  Iphigenia  exerts  over 
Thoas,  who,  moved  by  her  persuasion,  consents  to  their 
departure. 

Look  on  us,  King!  an  opportunity 

For  such  a  noble  deed  not  oft  occurs. 

Refuse,  thou  canst  not;  give  thy  quick  consent. 

Thoas. 
Then  go! 

Iphigenia. 

Not  so,  my  King!     I  cannot  part 
Without  thy  blessing,  or  in  anger  from  thee. 
Banish  us  not !  the  sacred  right  of  guests 
Still  let  us  claim :  so  not  eternally 
Shall  we  be  severed.     Honored  and  beloved 
As  mine  own  father  was  art  thou  by  me ; 
And  this  impression  in  my  soul  remains. 
Should  even  the  meanest  peasant  of  thy  land 
Bring  to  my  ear  the  tones  I  heard  from  thee, 
Or  should  I  on  the  humblest  see  thy  garb, 
I  will  with  joy  receive  him  as  a  guest, 
Prepare  myself  his  couch,  beside  our  hearth 
Invite  him  to  a  seat,  and  only  ask 
Touching  thy  fate  and  thee.     Oh,  may  the  Gods 
To  thee  the  merited  reward  impart 
Of  all  thy  kindness  and  benignity ! 
Farewell!     Oh,  do  not  turn  away,  but  give 
One  kindly  word  of  parting  in  return ! 
So  shall  the  wind  more  gently  swell  our  sails, 
And  from  our  eyes  with  softened  anguish  flow 
The  tears  of  separation.     Fare  thee  well! 


GOETHE.  287 

And  graciously  extend  to  me  thy  hand 
In  pledge  of  ancient  friendship. 

Thoas  {giving  his  hand). 
Fare  thee  wellli 

The  song  of  the  *'  Fates,"  which  Iphigenia  recites,  is 
familiar  to  many  through  Dr.  Frothingham's  felicitous 
version ;  but  I  cannot  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  pre- 
senting it  for  the  benefit  of  any  who  may  not  have  met 
with  it. 

SONG  OF  THE  PARCAE. 

*'  The  Gods  be  your  terror, 
Ye  children  of  men ! 
They  hold  the  dominion 
In  hands  everlasting, 
And  they  can  exert  it 
As  pleaseth  them  best. 

*'  Let  him  fear  them  doubly 
Whome'er  they  've  exalted! 
On  crags  and  on  cloud-piles 
The  couches  are  planted 
Around  the  gold  tables. 

**  Dissension  arises,  — 
Then  tumble  the  feasters, 
Reviled  and  dishonored, 
In  gulfs  of  deep  midnight, 
And  wait  ever  vainly, 
In  fetters  of  darkness, 
For  judgment  that 's  just. 

**  But  they  remain  seated, 

At  feasts  never-failing, 

Around  the  gold  tables. 

They  stride  at  a  footstep 
.    From  mountain  to  mountain ; 

1  Swanwick's  version. 


288  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Through  jaws  of  abysses 

Steams  toward  them  the  breathing 

Of  suffocate  Titans, 

Like  offerings  of  incense, 

A  light-rising  vapor. 

*'  They  turn  —  the  proud  masters  — 
From  whole  generations 
The  eye  of  their  blessing, 
Nor  will  in  the  children 
The  once  well-beloved 
Still  eloquent  features 
Of  ancestor  see." 

So  sang  the  dark  Sisters: 
The  old  exile  heareth 
That  terrible  music 
In  caverns  of  darkness, — 
Remembereth  his  children, 
And  shaketh  his  head. 

A  large  portion  of  Goethe's  productions  have  taken 
the  dramatic  form ;  yet  he  cannot  be  said,  theatrically 
speaking,  to  have  been,  like  Schiller,  a  successful  dram- 
atist. His  plays,  with  the  exception  of  "  Egmont  "  and 
the  First  Part  of  "  Faust,"  have  not  commanded  the 
stage ;  they  form  no  part,  I  believe,  of  the  stock  of  any 
German  theatre.  The  characterizations  are  striking,  but 
the  positions  are  not  dramatic.  Single  scenes  in  some 
of  them  are  exceptions,  —  like  that  in  "  Egmont,"  where 
Clara  endeavors  to  rouse  her  fellow-citizens  to  the  rescue 
of  the  Count  while  Brackenburg  seeks  to  restrain  her, 
and  several  of  the  scenes  in  the  First  Part  of  "  Faust." 
But,  on  the  whole,  the  interest  of  Goethe's  dramas  is 
psychological  rather  than  scenic.  Especially  is  this  the 
case  with  "  Tasso,"  one  of  the  author's  noblest  works, 
where  the  characters  are  not  so  much  actors  as  meta- 


GOETHE,  289 

physical  portraitures.  Schiller,  in  his  plays,  had  always 
the  stage  in  view.  Goethe,  on  the  contrary,  wrote  for 
readers,  or  cultivated  reflective  hearers,  not  spectators. 
In  the  Prelude  on  the  stage,  in  "  Faust,"  he  may  be  sup- 
posed to  express  his  own  views  in  the  sentiments  which 
he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  poet :  — 

*'  Speak  not  to  me  of  yonder  motley  masses, 
Whom  but  to  see  puts  out  the  fire  of  song. 
Hide  from  my  view  the  surging  crowd  that  passes, 
And  in  its  whirlpool  forces  us  along."  ^ 

The  manager  says  :  — 

*'  But  the  great  point  is  action;  every  one 
Comes  as  spectator,  and  the  show 's  the  fun. 
Let  but  the  plot  be  spun  off  fast  and  thickly, 
So  that  the  crowd  shall  gape  in  broad  surprise, 
Then  you  have  made  a  wide  impression  quickly, 
And  you  're  the  man  they'll  idolize."  ^ 

To  which  the  poet  replies  :  — 

*'  You  do  not  feel  how  mean  a  trade  like  that  must  be, 
In  the  true  artist's  eyes  how  false  and  hollow! 
Our  genteel  botchers  well  I  see 
Have  given  the  maxims  that  you  follow."  ^ 

When  I  say,  then,  that  Goethe,  compared  with  Schiller, 
failed  of  dramatic  success,  I  mean  that  his  talent  did  not 
lie  in  the  line  of  plays  adapted  to  the  stage  as  it  is ;  or 
if  the  talent  was  not  wanting,  his  taste  did  not  incline  to 
such  performance.     He  was  no  play-wright. 

But  there  is  another  and  higher  sense  of  the  word 
dramatic^  where  Goethe  is  supreme, — the  sense  in  which 
Dante's  great  poem  is  called  Commedia,  a  play.  There 
is  a  drama  whose  scope  is  beyond  the  compass  of  any 

1  Taylor's  version.  2  Brooks's  version. 

19 


290  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

earthly  stage.  —  a  drama  not  for  theatre-goers,  to  be  seen 
on  the  boards,  but  for  intellectual  contemplation  of  men 
and  angels.  Such  a  drama  is  "  Faust,"  of  which  I  shall 
speak  hereafter. 

Of  Goethe's  prose  works,  —  I  mean  works  of  prose 
fiction,  —  the  most  considerable  are  two  philosophical 
novels,  "  Wilhelm  Meister"  and  the  "Elective  Affinities." 

In  the  first  of  these  the  various  and  complex  motives 
which  have  shaped  the  composition  may  be  compre- 
hended in  the  one  word  education,- — the  education  of 
life  for  the  business  of  life.  The  main  thread  of  the 
narrative  traces  through  a  labyrinth  of  loosely  connected 
scenes  and  events  the  growth  of  the  hero's  character,  — 
a  progressive  training  by  various  influences,  passional, 
intellectual,  social,  moral,  and  religious.  These  are  rep- 
resented by  the  personnel  of  the  story.  In  accordance 
with  this  design,  the  hero  himself,  if  so  he  may  be  called, 
has  no  pronounced  traits,  is  more  negative  than  positive, 
but  is  brought  into  contact  with  many  very  positive  char- 
acters. His  life  is  the  stage  on  which  these  characters 
perform.  A  ground  is  thus  provided  for  the  numerous 
portraits  of  which  the  author's  large  experience  furnished 
the  originals,  and  for  lessons  of  practical  wisdom  derived 
from  his  close  observation  of  men  and  things  and  his 
life-long  reflection  thereon. 

"  Wilhelm  Meister,"  if  not  the  most  artistic,  is  the 
most  instructive,  and  in  that  view,  next  to  "  Faust,"  the 
most  important,  of  Goethe's  works.  In  it  he  has  em- 
bodied his  philosophy  of  life,  —  a  philosophy  far  enough 
removed  from  the  epicurean  views  which  ignorance  has 
ascribed  to  him,  —  a  philosophy  which  is  best  described 
by   the   term   ascetic.      Its   key-note   is   Renunciation. 


GOETHE.  291 

"  With  renunciation  begins  the  true  life,"  was  the  au- 
thor's favorite  maxim ;  and  the  second  part  of  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister  "  —  the  Wanderjahre  —  bears  the  collateral 
title,  Die  Entsagenden ;  that  is,  the  ''Renouncing"  or 
the  "  Self-denying."  The  characters  that  figure  in  this 
second  part  —  most  of  whom  have  had  their  training  in 
the  first  —  form  a  society  whose  principle  of  union  is 
self-renunciation  and  a  life  of  beneficent  activity.  Un- 
fortunately, the  Wanderjahre  is  an  unfinished  work, — 
a  collection  of  materials,  of  disconnected  essays  and 
stories,  which  the  author  in  his  old  age  was  too  much 
occupied  with  other  matters  to  fuse  into  one  whole. 

In  the  first  part  —  in  the  Lehrjahre  —  we  have  a 
very  striking  history  of  religious  experience  under  the 
title,  "  Confessions  of  a  Beautiful  Soul,"  suggested  by 
Goethe's  reminiscences  of  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  — 
a  deeply  religious  woman,  a  friend  of  his  youth,  to  whom 
he  owed  his  sharpest  and  most  enduring  impressions  of 
the  seriousness  of  life.  The  "  Confessions  "  are  inter- 
esting not  only  to  the  thoughtful  and  sympathetic  reader 
as  the  genuine  reflex  of  a  pious  Christian  soul,  but  to  all 
students  of  Goethe  as  attesting  his  thorough  apprecia- 
tion and  reverent  love  of  the  saintly  character  there  por- 
trayed. He  had  not  shared  —  he  could  not  share  —  her 
experience,  but  he  could  prize  it  at  its  true  worth.  He 
desired  to  comprehend  and  loved  to  contemplate  it,  as 
he  did  all  good  and  beautiful  things.  At  the  same  time, 
the  character  and  conversation  of  the  wise  Uncle,  whom 
the  writer  of  the  "  Confessions "  introduces  into  her 
story,  are  evidently  designed  by  Goethe,  who  could  tol- 
erate no  one-sidedness,  to  indicate  the  practical  limita- 
tion of  religious  enthusiasm  and  its  true  place  in  the 
whole  of  life. 


292  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  most  fascinating  character  in  "Wilhelm  Meister  " 
—  the  wonder  and  delight  of  the  reader  —  is  Mignon, 
the  child-woman,  —  a  pure  creation  of  Goethe's  genius, 
without  a  prototype  in  literature.  Readers  of  Scott  will 
remember  Fenella,  the  elfish  maiden  in  "  Peveril  of  the 
Peak."  Scott  says,  in  his  Preface  to  that  novel :  "  The 
character  of  Fenella,  which  from  its  peculiarity  made  a 
favorable  impression  on  the  public,  was  far  from  being 
original.  The  fine  sketch  of  Mignon  in  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter's  Lehrjahre,  —  a  celebrated  work  from  the  pen  of 
Goethe,  — gave  the  idea  of  such  a  being.  But  the  copy 
will  be  found  to  be  greatly  different  from  my  great  pro- 
totype ;  nor  can  I  be  accused  of  borrowing  anything  save 
the  general  idea." 

As  I  remember  Fenella,  the  resemblance  to  Mignon  is 
merely  superficial.  A  certain  weirdness  is  all  they  have 
in  common.  The  intensity  of  the  inner  life,  the  unspeak- 
able longing,  the  cry  of  the  unsatisfied  heart,  the  devout 
aspiration,  the  presentiment  of  the  heavenly  life  which 
characterize  Mignon  are  peculiar  to  her ;  they  constitute 
her  individuality.  Wilhelm  has  found  her  a  kidnapped 
child  attached  to  a  strolling  circus  company,  and  has 
rescued  her  from  the  cruel  hands  of  the  manager. 
Thenceforth  she  clings  to  him  with  a  passionate  devo- 
tion, in  which  gratitude  for  her  deliverance,  filial  affec- 
tion, and  the  love  of  a  maiden  for  her  hero  are  strangely 
blended.  Afflicted  with  a  disease  of  the  heart,  she  is 
subject  to  terrible  convulsions,  which  increase  the  ten- 
derness of  her  protector  for  the  doomed  child.  After 
one  of  these  attacks,  in  which  she  had  been  suffering 
frightful  pain,  we  read  :  — 

"  He  held  her  fast.  She  wept ;  and  no  tongue  can  express 
the  force  of  those  tears.     Her  long  hair  had  become  unfastened 


GOETHE.  293 

and  hung  loose  over  her  shoulders.  Her  whole  being  seemed 
to  be  melting  away.  ...  At  last  she  raised  herself  up.  A  mild 
cheerfulness  gleamed  from  her  face.  '  My  father,'  she  cried, 
'  you  will  not  leave  me  !  you  will  be  my  father  !  I  will  be  your 
child.'  Softly,  before  the  door,  a  harp  began  to  sound.  The 
old  Harper  was  bringing  his  heartiest  songs  as  an  evening 
sacrifice  to  his  friend.'* 

Then  bursts  on  the  reader  that  world-famed  song,  — 
in  which  the  soul  of  Mignon,  with  its  unconquerable 
yearnings,  is  forever  embalmed,  —  "  Kennst  du  das 
Land  "  :  — 

*'  Know'st  thou  the  land  that  bears  the  citron's  bloom  ? 
The  golden  orange  glows  'mid  verdant  gloom, 
A  gentle  wind  from  heaven's  deep  azure  blows, 
The  myrtle  low,  and  high  the  laurel  grows,  — 
Know'st  thou  the  land  ?  ^ 

Oh,  there  1  oh.  there  1 
Would  I  with  thee,  my  best  beloved,  repair. 

*'  Know'st  thou  the  house,  the  column's  stately  line? 
The  hall  is  splendid,  and  the  chambers  shine. 
And  marble  statues  stand  and  gaze  on  me ; 
Alas !  poor  child,  what  have  they  done  to  thee  ? 
Know'st  thou  the  house  ?  ^ 

Oh,  there!  oh,  there! 
Would  I  with  thee,  my  guardian,  repair. 

"  Know'st  thou  the  mountain  with  its  cloudy  slopes? 
The  mule  his  way  through  mist  and  darkness  gropes ; 
In  caverns  dwells  the  dragon's  ancient  brood, 
Tumbles  the  rock,  and  over  it  the  flood,  — 
Know'st  thou  the  mountain  ?  ^ 

There!  oh,  there  I 
Our  pathway  lies;  oh,  father,  let  us  fare!  " 

1  Literally,  "  know'st  thou  it  well  ?  "  But  the  word  "  well,"  in  this 
case,  does  not  answer  to  the  German  wohl. 


294  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  "  Elective  Affinities  "  has  been  strangely  misin- 
terpreted as  having  an  immoral  tendency,  as  encour- 
aging conjugal  infidelity,  and  approving  "  free  love." 
That  any  one  who  has  read  the  work  with  attention  to 
the  end  could  so  misjudge  it,  seems  incredible.  Pre- 
cisely the  reverse  of  this,  its  aim  is  to  enforce  the 
sanctity  of  the  nuptial  bond  by  showing  the  tragic  con- 
sequences resulting  from  its  violation,  though  only  in 
thought  and  feeling.  Edward,  the  hero,  is  meditating 
a  divorce  from  his  wife,  with  a  view  to  a  union  with 
Ottilie,  her  niece,  who  has  attracted  him,  and  who  un- 
reflectingly has  suffered  herself  to  be  attracted  by  him. 
The  death  of  an  infant,  of  which  she  is  the  accidental 
cause,  awakens  in  her  the  consciousness  of  her  position, 
—  of  the  precipice  on  which  she  stands ;  and  remorse  for 
having  reciprocated  Edward's  affection  causes  her  own 
death.  Edward,  too  weak  to  rouse  himself,  dies  from 
grief  for  her  loss.  The  characters  are  drawn  with  con- 
summate skill ;  that  of  Ottilie,  in  particular,  is  one  of 
the  sweetest  and  most  touching  pictures  in  all  the  range 
of  modern  fiction.  It  is  in  reference  to  her  that  Marga- 
ret Fuller  says  :  "  Not  even  in  Shakspeare  have  I  felt 
more  strongly  the  organizing  power  of  genius."  And 
again :  "  The  virgin  Ottilie,  who  immolates  herself  to 
avoid  spotting  her  thoughts  with  passion,  gives  to  that 
much-abused  book, '  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,'  the  pa- 
thetic moral  of  the  pictures  of  the  Magdalen." 

Here,  a  word  concerning  one  merit  of  Goethe  which 
seems  to  me  not  to  have  been  sufficiently  appreciated  by 
even  his  admirers,  —  his  loving  skill  in  the  delineation 
of  female  character ;  the  commanding  place  he  assigns 
to  woman  in  his  writings  ;  his  full  recognition  of  the 
importance   of   feminine   influence  in  human  destiny. 


GOETHE.  295 

The  prophetic  utterance,  which  forms  the  conclusion  of 
"  Faust,"  — "  The  ever  womanly  draws  us  on,"  —  is  the 
summing  up  of  Goethe's  own  experience  of  life.  Few 
men  had  ever  such  wide  opportunities  of  acquaintance 
with  women.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  his  loves  had  re- 
vealed to  him  the  passional  side  of  feminine  nature,  he 
had  enjoyed,  on  the  other,  the  friendship  of  some  of  the 
purest  and  noblest  of  womankind.  Conspicuous  among 
these  are  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  and  the  Duchess 
Luise,  whom  no  one,  says  Lewes,  ever  speaks  of  but 
in  terms  of  veneration.  No  poet  but  Shakspeare,  and 
scarcely  Shakspeare,  has  set  before  the  world  so  rich  a 
gallery  of  female  portraits.  They  range  from  the  lowest 
to  the  highest,  —  from  the  wanton  to  the  saint.  There 
are  drawn  in  firm  lines,  and  limned  in  imperishable 
colors,  Elizabeth,  Adelaide,  Friederike,  Lotte,  Marianne 
(in  "Die  Geschwister "),  Clara,  Margaret  of  Parma, 
Iphigenie,  Leonora,  Gretchen,  Eugenie,  Dorothea,  Otti- 
lie,  Charlotte,  the  Baroness  (in  '*  Die  Unterhaltungen 
deutscher  Ausgewanderten"),  the  Countess  (in  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister "),  Philine,  Aurelia,  Mignon,  Hersilie, 
Natalie,  Therese,  Makaria,  —  each  bearing  the  stamp  of 
her  own  individuality,  and  each  confessing  a  master's 
hand.  These  may  be  considered  as  representing  dif- 
ferent phases  of  the  poet's  experience,  —  different 
stadia  in  his  view  of  life.  "  The  ever  womanly  draws 
us  on."  So  Goethe,  of  all  men  most  susceptible  of  femi- 
nine influence,  was  led  by  it  from  weakness  to  strength, 
from  dissipation  to  concentration,  from  doubt  to  clear- 
ness, from  tumult  to  repose,  from  the  earthly  to  the 
heavenly. 


296  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


"FAUST." 

Goethe  appears  to  have  derived  his  knowledge  of  the 
Faust  legend  partly  from  the  work  of  Widmann,  pub- 
lished in  1599,1  partly  from  another  more  modern  in  its 
form  which  appeared  in  1728,  and  partly  from  the  pup- 
pet plays  exhibited  in  Frankfort  and  other  cities  of  Ger- 
many, of  which  that  legend  was  then  a  favorite  theme. 
He  was  not  the  only  writer  of  that  day  who  made  use 
of  it.  Some  thirty  of  his  contemporaries  had  produced 
their  "  Fausts  "  during  the  interval  which  elapsed  be- 
tween the  inception  and  publication  of  his  great  work. 
Oblivion  overtook  them  all,  with  the  exception  of  Les- 
sing's,  of  which  a  few  fragments  are  left ;  ^  the  manu- 
script of  the  complete  work  was  unaccountably  lost  on 
its  way  to  the  publisher,  between  Dresden  and  Leipsic. 

The  composition  of  "  Faust,"  as  we  learn  from  Goethe's 
biography,  proceeded  spasmodically,  with  many  and  long 
interruptions  between  the  inception  and  conclusion. 
Projected  in  1769  at  the  age  of  twenty,  it  was  not  com- 
pleted till  the  year  1831,  at  the  age  of  eighty-two.  The 
reasons  for  so  long  a  delay  in  the  case  of  a  writer  who 
often  composed  so  rapidly  have  been  widely  discussed 
by  recent  critics.  The  true  explanation,  I  think,  is  to 
be  found  in  the  fact  of  the  author's  removal  to  Weimar 
when  only  a  small  portion  of  the  work  had  been  written, 
when  only  the  general  conception  and  one  or  two  lead- 
ing ideas  were  present  to  his  thought,  and  before  the 
plan  of  the  whole  was  matured.  That  change  of  resi- 
dence, with  the  new  interests,  the  official  duties,  the 

1  The  earlier  work  of  Spiess  (1588)  was  translated  into  English,  and 
furnished  Marlowe  with  the  subject  matter  of  his  "  Dr.  Faustus." 
^  See  Appendix. 


GOETHE.  297 

multiplicity  of  engagements  attending  it, made  a  thorough 
break  in  Goethe's  literary  life.  Several  works  begun  or 
planned  were  left  unfinished,  "  Faust  "  among  the  rest. 
Some  of  these  were  never  resumed,  and  the  same  fate 
would  apparently  have  befallen  "  Faust "  but  for  the 
urgent  solicitation  of  friends.  He  took  the  manuscript 
with  him  to  Rome,  and  from  there  he  wrote  in  1788  to 
friends  at  home  that  he  was  going  to  work  upon  his 
"  Faust "  again,  and  that  he  thought  he  had  recovered 
the  thread  of  the  piece.  For  "  thought "  Bayard  Taylor 
says,  "  felt  sure ; "  but  Goethe's  language  is  not  so 
decided.^  The  thread  of  an  unfinished  work  after  the 
lapse  of  fifteen  years  is  not  easily  recovered ;  my  own 
opinion  is  that  Goethe  never  did  recover  it,  and  hence 
the  long  delay  in  the  completion  of  the  work.  We  know 
at  any  rate  that  the  only  addition  made  to  it  then  was 
the  scene  in  the  witch's  kitchen.  That,  as  we  learn  from 
Eckermann,  was  written  in  the  villa  Borghese,  the  most 
unlikely  place  in  the  world  for  such  a  composition  :  in 
the  midst  of  southern  and  classic  associations  this  ex- 
travaganza of  northern  diablerie  !  In  1790  a  fragment 
of  the  First  Part  was  published,  wanting  several  of  the 
best  scenes  in  the  work  as  we  now  have  it.  Then  again 
there  is  a  long  gap.  Meanwhile  he  had  become  ac- 
quainted and  intimate  with  Schiller,  and  at  his  insti- 
gation made  several  unsuccessful  attempts  to  finish 
"  Faust."  Grief  for  Schiller's  death,  which  occurred  in 
1805,  caused  new  delay  ;  but  at  last,  in  1808,  the  First 
Part  was  published  entire  as  we  now  have  it,  in  a  uni- 
form edition  of  the  author's  works.  Meanwhile  a  por- 
tion of  the  Second  Part,  comprising  the  whole  of  the 
third  act,  had  been  already  composed.     This  was  pub- 

1  "Ich  glaube"  is  his  expression. 


298  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

lished  separately  in  1827,  with  the  title,  "  Helena ;  a 
Classico-Romantic  Phantasmagoria."  With  the  excep- 
tion of  parts  of  the  first  act  in  1828,  nothing  more  of  the 
Second  Part  of  "  Faust "  appeared  in  print  during  the 
author's  lifetime.  But  the  octogenarian  had  rigorously 
bound  himself  to  finish  it  if  possible  before,  as  he  said, 
the  great  night  should  come  "  in  which  no  man  can 
work."  Fortunately  the  closing  scenes  were  already 
written.  Slowly  and  painfully  the  work  proceeded  at 
intervals  during  the  three  remaining  years,  and  was  not 
completed  until  within  seven  months  of  his  death. 

Had  ever  a  poet's  masterpiece  such  a  genesis  !  Birth- 
pangs  extending  over  sixty  years  ! 

The  history  of  its  composition  reveals  itself  here  and 
there  in  the  finished  work,  especially  in  the  Second  Part. 
The  first  half  of  the  fifth  act  gives  one  the  impression 
of  an  outline  not  filled  up,  indications  instead  of  repre- 
sentations, a  design  imperfectly  executed.  Single  pas- 
sages, striking  in  themselves,  are  loosely  connected  ;  and 
this  first  half  bears  no  proportion  to  the  last.  The  fourth 
act  is  rich  in  suggestion,  but  labors  in  the  structure. 
The  third  act,  an  exquisite  poem  in  itself,  is  an  inter- 
lude, and  does  not  further  the  development  of  the  plot. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  classical  Walpurgis  Night 
in  the  second.  In  short,  although  one  grand  design  may 
be  supposed,  in  the  poet's  mind,  to  have  comprehended 
and  clinched  the  whole,  the  want  of  unity  in  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Second  Part  is  painfully  apparent  to  all  in 
whose  estimation  the  interest  of  single  portions  does  not 
compensate  for  the  halting  of  the  plot.  Even  the  First 
Part,  with  all  its  grandeur  and  its  fire,  its  pathos  and  its 
sweetness,  bears  marks  of  interruption  in  its  composi- 
tion.   A  single  prose  scene  contrasts  with  strange  though 


GOETHE.  299 

not  unpleasant  effect  the  metrical  movement  of  the  rest. 
Gaps  and  seams  and  joints  and  splicings  are  here  and 
there  apparent.  The  work  is  too  great  to  be  injured  by 
them,  but  they  bear  witness  of  arrested  and  fitful  com- 
position. The  Waljpurgisnachtstraum,  or  "  Oberon  and 
Titania's  Golden  Wedding,"  is  lugged  in  with  no  motive 
in  the  drama,  whose  action  it  only  serves  to  interrupt. 
In  old  English  poems  the  divisions  are  sometims  called 
Fyttes  ("  fits  ").  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  term 
would  be  an  apt  designation  of  the  scenes  in  "  Faust." 
They  were  thrown  off  by  the  author  as  the  jit  took  him. 

But  the  effect  of  the  long  arrest,  which  after  Goe- 
the's removal  to  Weimar  delayed  the  completion  of  the 
*'  Faust,"  is  most  apparent  in  the  wide  gulf  which  sepa- 
rates, as  to  character  and  style,  the  Second  Part  from 
the  First.  So  great  indeed  is  the  distance  between  the 
two,  that  without  external  historical  proofs  of  identity 
it  would  seem  from  internal  evidence  altogether  improb- 
able, in  spite  of  the  slender  thread  of  the  fable  which 
connects  them,  that  both  poems  were  the  work  of  one 
and  the  same  author.  And  really  the  author  was  not 
the  same.  The  change  which  had  come  over  Goethe  on 
his  return  from  Italy  had  gone  down  to  the  very  springs 
of  his  intellectual  life.  The  fervor  and  the  rush,  the 
sparkle  and  foam  of  his  early  productions  had  been  re- 
placed by  the  stately  calm  and  the  luminous  breadth  of 
view  that  is  born  of  experience.  The  torrent  of  the 
mountains  had  become  the  river  of  the  plain ;  romantic 
impetuosity  had  changed  to  classic  repose.  He  could 
still,  by  occasional  efforts  of  the  will,  cast  himself  back 
into  the  old  moods,  resume  the  old  thread,  and  so  com- 
plete the  first  "  Faust."  But  we  may  confidently  assert 
that  he  could  not,  after  the  age  of  forty,  have  originated 


300  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  poem,  any  more  than  before  his  Italian  tour  he  could 
have  written  the  second  "Faust,"  purporting  to  be  a 
continuation  of  the  first.  The  difference  in  spirit  and 
style  is  enormous. 

As  to  the  question  which  of  the  two  is  the  greater 
production,  it  is  like  asking  which  is  the  greater, 
Dante's  "  Commedia  "  or  Shakspeare's  "  Macbeth  "  } 
They  are  incommensurable.  As  to  which  is  the  more 
generally  interesting,  no  question  can  arise.  There  are 
thousands  who  enjoy  and  admire  the  First  Part,  to  one 
who  even  reads  the  Second.  The  interest  of  the  former 
is  poetic  and  thoroughly  human ;  the  interest  of  the 
other  is  partly  poetic,  but  mostly  philosophic  and  scien- 
tific. The  one  bears  you  irresistibly  on,  —  you  forget 
the  writer  and  his  genius  in  the  theme ;  the  other  draws 
your  attention  to  the  manner,  and  leaves  you  cold  and 
careless  of  the  theme.  The  transition  from  the  first  to 
the  second  is  like  the  change  from  a  hill  country  to  a 
richly-cultured  champaign;  from  the  wild  picturesque- 
ness  of  Nature  to  the  smooth  perfection  of  Art.  In  one 
respect,  at  least,  the  Second  Part  is  nowise  inferior  to 
the  First,  —  namely,  in  rhythmical  beauty.  It  abounds 
in  metrical  prodigies,  —  proof  at  once  of  the  marvellous 
plasticity  of  the  language  and  the  technical  skill  of  the 
poet,  whose  versification  at  the  age  of  four-score  exhibits 
all  the  ease  and  dexterity  of  youth,  and  to  whom  it  seems 
to  have  been  as  natural  to  utter  himself  in  verse  as  in 
prose. 

The  symbolical  character  of  "  Faust "  is  assumed  by 
all  the  critics,  and  in  part  confessed  by  the  author  him- 
self. Besides  the  general  symbolism  pervading  and  mo- 
tiving the  whole, —  a  symbolism  of  human  destiny, — and 


GOETHE.  301 

here  and  there  a  shadowing  forth  of  the  poet's  private 
experience,  there  are  special  allusions  —  local,  personal, 
enigmatic  conceits  —  which  have  furnished  topics  of 
learned  discussion  and  taxed  the  ingenuity  of  numerous 
commentators.  We  need  not  trouble  ourselves  with 
these  subtleties.  But  little  exegesis  is  needed  for  a 
right  comprehension  of  the  true  and  substantial  import 
of  the  work. 

The  key  to  the  plot  is  given  in  the  Prologue  in 
Heaven.  The  Devil,  in  the  character  of  Mephisto- 
pheles,  asks  permission  to  tempt  Faust;  he  boasts  his 
ability  to  get  entire  possession  of  his  soul  and  drag  him 
down  to  hell.  The  Lord  grants  the  permission,  and 
prophesies  the  failure  of  the  attempt :  — 

"  Be  it  allowed !  Draw  this  spirit  from  its  Source  if  you 
can  lay  hold  of  him ;  bear  him  with  you  on  your  downward 
path,  and  stand  ashamed  when  you  are  forced  to  confess  that 
a  good  man  in  his  dark  strivings  has  a  consciousness  of  the 
right  way." 

Here  we  have  a  hint  of  the  author's  design.  He  does 
not  intend  that  the  Devil  shall  succeed ;  he  does  not 
mean  to  adopt  the  conclusion  of  the  legend  and  send 
Faust  to  hell.  He  had  the  penetration  to  see,  and  he 
meant  to  show,  that  the  notion  implied  in  the  old  popu- 
lar superstition  of  selling  one's  soul  to  the  Devil  —  the 
notion  that  evil  can  obtain  the  entire  and  final  posses- 
sion of  the  soul  —  is  a  fallacy;  that  the  soul  is  not 
man's  to  dispose  of,  and  cannot  be  so  traded  away.  We 
are  the  soul's,  not  the  soul  ours.  Evil  is  self-limited ; 
the  good  in  man  must  finally  prevail.  So  long  as  he 
strives,  he  is  not  lost ;  Heaven  will  come  to  the  aid  of 
his  better  nature.     This  is  the  doctrine,  the  philosophy. 


302  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

of  "  Faust."  In  the  First  Part,  stung  by  disappointment 
in  his  search  of  knowledge,  by  failure  to  lay  hold  of 
the  superhuman,  and  urged  on  by  his  baser  propensities 
personified  in  Mephistopheles,  Faust  abandons  himself  to 
sensual  pleasure,  —  seduces  innocence,  burdens  his  soul 
with  heavy  guilt,  and  seems  to  be  entirely  given  over  to 
evil.  This  Part  ends  with  Mephistopheles'  imperious 
call,  —  "  Her  zu  mir,"  —  as  if  secure  of  his  victim.  Be- 
fore the  appearance  of  the  Second  Part,  the  reader  was 
at  liberty  to  accept  that  conclusion.  But  in  the  Second 
Part  Faust  gradually  wakes  from  the  intoxication  of 
passion,  outgrows  the  dominion  of  appetite,  plans  great 
and  useful  works,  whereby  Mephistopheles  loses  more 
and  more  his  hold  of  him  ;  and  after  his  death  is  baffled 
in  his  attempt  to  appropriate  Faust's  immortal  part,  to 
which  the  heavenly  Powers  assert  their  right. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  fable.  And  this  is 
the  issue  prefigured  in  the  Prologue  in  Heaven.  But 
whether  this  was  Goethe's  original  plan  is  somewhat 
doubtful.  The  Prologue  in  Heaven  was  not  written 
until  the  larger  portion  of  the  First  Part  had  been  pub- 
lished. It  seems  not  unlikely  that  Faust's  salvation 
was  an  after-thought,  and  that  Goethe's  original  design 
was  to  follow  the  legend  and  consign  his  hero  to  the 
Devil  at  the  end  of  his  career.  We  may  suppose  that 
riper  thought  rejected  such  an  ending,  and  occasioned 
the  temporary  arrest  of  the  whole  undertaking,  until  the 
idea  of  the  Prologue  in  Heaven  occurred  to  him  as  offer- 
ing a  way  of  escape  from  the  sorry  finale  of  the  legend- 
ary "  Faust,"  and  a  better  treatment  of  the  theme. 

But  the  Prelude  on  the  Stage  proposes  to  traverse  the 
entire  circle  of  creation,  and  to  pass  "  with  considerate 
rapidity  from  heaven  through  the  world  to  hell."     This 


GOETHE.  303 

seems  to  imply  the  intention,  after  all,  to  make  hell  the 
terminus  of  Faust's  career.  And  yet  the  Prelude  on  the 
Stage  we  know  to  have  been  written  after  the  publica- 
tion of  the  first  instalment  of  the  play, — probably  at  the 
same  time  with  the  Prologue  in  Heaven.  Here  then  is  a 
contradiction,  —  the  Prelude  pointing  downward  to  the 
Pit,  as  the  woful  consummation  of  the  plot ;  the  Prologue 
in  Heaven  directing  to  the  skies.  The  contradiction 
can  be  solved  only  by  supposing  that  the  author  forgot 
himself  for  the  moment,  and  wrote  in  the  sense  of  his 
original  design. 

Another  discrepance  has  been  noticed  by  the  critics. 
Christian  Hermann  Weisse  was  the  first  to  call  atten- 
tion to  certain  passages,  from  which  it  is  evident  that 
Goethe's  first  intention  was  to  represent  Mephistopheles 
as  the  emissary  of  the  Earth-Spirit,  whom  Faust  invokes 
in  the  first  scene  of  the  First  Part.  The  Prologue  in 
Heaven,  which  as  I  have  said  was  an  after-thought, 
provided  another  and  better  way  of  introducing  this 
leading  character;  but  the  passages  referring  to  the 
former  method  were  suffered  to  remain,  either  from  in- 
advertence or  want  of  time  and  will  to  rewrite  them. 
And  so  we  have  in  the  First  Part  of  "  Faust "  these 
croppings-out  of  an  earlier  formation  of  the  poet's  mind, 
like  the  upheavals  of  a  lower  stratum  of  the  earth's 
crust.  It  is  a  proof  of  the  author's  genius,  that  with 
all  these  irregularities  the  play  has  won  for  itself  the 
suffrage  of  two  generations,  and  maintains  its  place  as 
the  literary  masterpiece  of  modern  time. 

The  Prologue  in  Heaven  was  at  first  an  offence  to 
English  readers,  on  account  of  its  seeming  irreverence. 
The  earlier  translators  omitted  it,  or  all  that  portion 
which  follows  the  Song  of  the  Angels.     Anster  thinks 


304  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

to  evade  the  difficulty  by  using  the  German  "  der  Herr  " 
instead  of  "  the  Lord."  But  the  Prologue,  as  1  said,  sug- 
gests the  motive  of  the  piece,  and  foreshows  the  conclu- 
sion. To  omit  it  is  to  prejudice  the  right  understanding 
of  the  whole.  And  as  to  irreverence,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  adopt  Mr.  Lewes'  apology  drawn  from  mediaeval  use 
in  the  Miracle  Plays,  whose  representations  of  Deity  are 
accompanied  with  familiarities  of  speech  quite  shocking 
to  modern  sentiment.  The  Faust  legend  was  not  a 
mediaeval  production,  and  the  puppet-plays  founded  upon 
it  are  not  to  be  classed  with  the  old  miracle-plays.  Nor 
had  these  puppet-plays,  any  more  than  the  legend  itself^ 
a  prologue  in  heaven  ;  rather,  some  of  them,  a  prologue 
in  hell.  The  Prologue  is  Goethe's  own  conception,  sug- 
gested, as  he  tells  us,  by  the  Book  of  Job  ;  but  nothing 
could  be  farther  from  the  poet's  intention  than  to  trav- 
esty or  degrade  that  venerable  poem.  The  alleged  irrev- 
erence of  Mephistopheles'  conference  with  "  the  Lord  " 
requires  no  other  excuse  than  that  Goethe's  devil  was 
bound  to  speak  in  character.  He  is  the  spirit  that  de- 
nies ;  the  mocking  spirit.  His  whole  being  is  a  mockery 
of  the  Holy  ;  he  can  speak  only  as  he  is.  Madame  de 
Stael  would  have  had  him  spiteful  and  defiant ;  it  was 
Goethe's  choice  to  make  him  sceptical  and  scoffing,  —  a 
kind  of  exaggerated,  infernal  likeness  of  Voltaire,  of 
whom  Goethe  says  that  in  his  youth  he  could  have 
strangled  him  for  his  irreverent  treatment  of  the  Bible. 
In  reality  there  is  no  more  irreverence  in  Mephistopheles' 
talk  than  in  that  of  Satan  in  Job  ;  what  distinguishes 
them  is  the  humor ;  so  foreign  to  the  Hebrew,  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  modern  mind. 

If  the  Prologue  was  suggested  by  the  Book  of  Job,  the 
Song  of  the  Angels  with  which  it  opens  has  no  parallel 


GOETHE.  305 

in  Job,  or,  so  far  as  I  know,  in  any  other  poem  ancient 
or  modern.  The  mixture  of  simplicity  and  majesty  in 
these  wonderful  verses,  which  so  fascinated  and  amazed 
the  poet  Shelley,  makes  the  translation  of  them  difficult 
beyond  the  ordinary  difficulty  of  metrical  version.  I 
venture  the  following  as  approaching  more  nearly  the 
tone,  if  not  the  letter,  of  the  original  than  any  I  have  yet 
seen.  The  angels  speak  in  the  inverse  order  of  their 
rank. 

Raphael. 
The  sun  with  brother  orbs  is  sounding 

Still,  as  of  old,  his  rival  song, 
As  on  his  destined  journey  bounding 
With  thunder-step  he  sweeps  along. 
The  sight  gives  angels  strength,  though  greater 

Than  angels'  utmost  thought  sublime. 
And  all  thy  lofty  works.  Creator, 
Are  grand  as  in  creation's  prime ! 

Gabriel. 

And  fleetly,  thought  transcending,  fleetly 

The  earth's  gay  pomp  is  spinning  round, 
And  paradise  alternates  sweetly 

With  night  terrific  and  profound. 
There  foams  the  sea,  its  broad  wave  beating 

Against  the  cliff's  deep  rocky  base, 
And  rock  and  sea  away  are  fleeting 

In  everlasting  spheral  chase. 

Michael. 

And  storms  with  rival  fury  heaving 

From  land  to  sea,  from  sea  to  land. 
Still  as  they  rave  a  chain  are  weaving 

Of  linked  efl&cacy  grand. 
There  burning  desolation  blazes. 

Precursor  of  the  thunder's  way, 
But,  Lord,  thy  servants  own  with  praises 

The  gentle  movement  of  thy  day. 
20 


306  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

All  Three. 
The  sight  gives  angels  strength,  though  greater 

Than  angels'  utmost  thought  sublime; 
And  all  thy  lofty  works,  Creator, 

Are  grand  as  in  creation's  prime! 

This  splendid  overture  is  followed  by  the  comic  mock 
humility  and  mock  compassion  of  Mephistopheles,  who 
professes  to  have  no  command  of  high-sounding  words, 
has  nothing  to  say  about  suns  and  worlds,  has  only 
eyes  for  man,  sees  with  pity  how  mortals  torment  them- 
selves, and  thinks  they  would  be  better  off  without 
that  ray  of  heavenly  light  which  they  call  reason,  and 
of  which  the  only  use  they  make  is  to  be  more  beastly 
than  any  beast.  He  compares  them  to  grasshoppers 
that  undertake  to  fly,  —  make  a  leap,  and,  plump !  are 
down  in  the  dirt. 

The  Lord.  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ?  Have  you  nothing 
but  complaints  to  offer  ?  Will  nothing  on  the  earth  ever  suit 
you? 

Meph.  No,  Lord ;  I  find  everything  there  as  bad  as  ever.  I 
pity  mankind,  with  their  daily  misery ;  I  really  have  n't  the 
heart  to  torment  them ! 

The  Lord.   Knowest  thou  Faust  ? 

Meph.  The  doctor  ? 

The  Lord.    My  servant. 

Meph.  Truly,  he  serves  you  after  a  strange  fashion.  The 
fool  subsists  on  no  earthly  food  or  drink.  The  ferment  of  his 
mind  drives  him  all  abroad.  He  is  half  conscious  of  his 
madness. 

*'  From  heaven  he  asks  each  fairest  star, 
And  from  the  earth  each  highest  zest; 
And  all  that 's  near  and  all  that 's  far 
Fails  to  content  his  stormy  breast." 


GOETHE.  307 

The  Lord  replies,  that  though  Faust  at  present  serves 
him  in  a  confused  way,  he  (the  Lord)  will  soon  lead  him 
into  clearness.  Then  follows  the  permission  to  tempt 
Faust,  and  the  Lord's  prediction  of  the  mortification  and 
defeat  of  the  tempter. 

Mephistopheles. 
All  right!     Long  time  will  not  be  needed; 

I  'm  not  concerned  about  the  how; 
And  when  at  last  I  have  succeeded, 

A  hearty  triumph  you  '11  allow ; 
Dust  he  shall  eat,  and  in  it  glory, 
Like  my  Aunt  Serpent,  famed  in  story. 

The  drama  opens  with  a  passionate  soliloquy  of  Faust, 
who  complains  that  all  his  studies  in  Medicine,  Philos- 
ophy, and  Theology  have  been  fruitless  ;  they  have 
brought  him  no  nearer  to  the  heart  of  things.  What 
he  most  desires  to  know,  they  have  not  taught  him ;  and 
what  they  have  taught  him  yields  no  satisfaction. 

**  So  here  I  stand,  alas!  poor  fool, 
As  wise  as  when  I  entered  school." 

Baffled  and  disconsolate,  he  resolves  to  apply  himself 
to  magic.  The  mystic  volume  of  Nostradamus  is  be- 
fore him ;  he  turns  over  the  leaves,  dwells  with  admi- 
ration on  the  sign  of  the  macrocosm,  and  finally  invokes 
the  Earth-Spirit,  whose  appearance  at  first  overwhelms 
him  with  terror,  but  rallying  himself,  he  cries :  — 

Faust.  Shall  I  yield  to  thee,  flame  image  ?  Here  am  I,  — 
Faust,  thy  equal ! 

Spirit. 

In  floods  of  life,  in  action's  storm, 
Above,  beneath, 
To  and  fro  I  am  weaving, 
Now  birth,  now  death; 


308  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

A  deep  ever  heaving, 

With  change  still  flowing, 

With  life  all  glowing, 

At  the  roaring  loom  of  Time  I  ply. 

And  weave  the  live  garment  of  Deity. 

Faust.  Thou,  who  sweepest  the  wide  world  round,  active 
Spirit,  how  near  I  feel  myself  to  thee ! 

Spirit.  Thou  resemblest  the  spirit  whom  thou  comprehend- 
est,  not  me. 

Faust.  Not  thee  !  Whom  then  ?  I,  image  of  the  Godhead, 
not  even  thee ! 

At  this  point  he  is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  his 
famulus  Wagner,  in  whom  we  have  the  type  of  the  dry 
prosaic  pedant  of  Goethe's  day.  Wagner  has  heard  loud 
speaking,  and  thinks  Faust  is  reciting  a  Greek  tragedy. 
He  wishes  to  profit  by  the  art,  for  in  these  days  he  has 
heard  the  actor  may  instruct  the  preacher.  Yes,  Faust 
says,  if  the  preacher  plays  the  actor,  as  is  sometimes  the 
case. 

Wagner.  But  delivery  makes  the  success  of  the  orator;  I 
feel  that  I  am  very  backward  in  this. 

Faust.  Seek  an  honest  gain.  Be  no  fool  with  sounding  bells. 
Intelligence  and  good  sense  need  little  art  for  their  delivery ; 
they  deliver  themselves. 

Wagner  is  dismissed,  and  then  Faust's  monologue 
continues.  The  thought  of  his  rejection  by  the  Earth- 
Spirit  rankles  in  his  breast.  Baffled  in  his  hope  of  de- 
liverance from  the  galling  limitations  of  his  lot,  thrown 
back  again  on  the  dreary  inanities  of  the  old  scholastic 
life,  he  meditates  suicide  as  the  only  escape  from  what 
has  become  an  intolerable  load.  He  takes  from  his 
shelves  a  phial  filled  with  the  deadly  potion,  which  is  to 
bring  him  release,  — 


GOETHE.  309 

**  I  welcome  thee,  thou  only  saving  potion, 
Take  thee  in  hand  with  genuine  devotion. 

The  sight  of  thee  my  cruel  grief  assuages, 
Allays  the  storm  that  in  my  bosom  rages. 

The  spirit's  flood  within  me  ebbs  away, 
It  draws  me  seaward;  lulled  to  blissful  dreaming, 
I  see  the  mirror  wave  beneath  me  gleaming, 

New  shores  invite  me  and  another  day." 

He  pours  the  liquid  into  an  antique,  curiously-carved 
cup,  and  puts  it  to  his  lips,  — 

'*  With  this  last  draught  my  ransomed  soul  reborn, 
Pledges  its  greeting  to  the  unknown  morn." 

At  that  moment  he  hears  the  well-known  Easter  music, 
the  peal  of  the  church-bells,  and  the  choral  song, — 
"  Christ  ist  erstanden."  ^  His  hand  is  arrested,  his 
purpose  halts ;  soothing  memories  of  childhood's  happy 
years,  associated  with  those  familiar  strains,  take  pos- 
session of  his  soul,  and  win  him  back  to  life,  — 

*'  Sound  on,  ye  heavenly  notes!  your  sweetness  tames  me; 
Tears  flow  at  length,  and  earth  once  more  reclaims  me." 

The  next  scene,  the  liveliest  in  the  play,  presents  the 
gayeties  of  Easter  Sunday  as  they  are  still  witnessed  in 
Germany.  The  city  pours  forth  its  population.  In  the 
country,  outside  of  the  gates,  pleasure-parties  are  swarm- 
ing in  all  directions ;  there  is  singing  and  dancing. 
Faust,  accompanied  by  Wagner,  is  greeted  with  respect 
by  the  peasants,  who  remember  with  gratitude  the  ser- 
vices rendered  by  his  father,  a  physician,  in  which  he 
also  assisted,  in  the  time  of  the  pestilence.     Faust  dis- 

1  See  Appendix. 


310  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

claims  any  merit ;  and  afterward,  in  conversation  with 
Wagner,  disparaging  medical  science,  declares  his  belief 
that  his  father's  medicines  had  destroyed  more  lives 
than  the  plague.  "  But  let  us  not  dim  the  blessing  of 
the  hour,"  he  says,  "  with  these  melancholy  thoughts." 
See  how  the  green-embowered  cottages  shimmer  in  the 
glow  of  the  setting  sun,  — 

"  He  sinks,  he  vanishes,  the  day  is  done. 

Yonder  he  speeds,  and  sheds  new  hfe  forever. 
Oh,  had  I  wings  to  rise  and  follow  on 

Still  after  him  with  fond  endeavor ! 
Then  should  I  see  beneath  my  feet 

The  hushed  world's  everlasting  vesper, 
Each  summit  tipped  with  fire,  each  valley's  silence  sweet, 

The  silver  brook,  the  river's  molten  jasper; 
And  nought  should  stay  my  God-competing  flight, 

Though  savage  mountains  now  with  all  their  ravines, 

And  now  the  ocean,  with  its  tempered  havens, 
Successive  greet  the  astonished  sight. 

The  God  at  length  appears  as  he  were  sinking, 
But  still  the  impulse  is  renewed ; 

I  hasten  on,  the  light  eternal  drinking. 
The  day  pursuing,  by  the  night  pursued; 

Above,  the  sky,  beneath,  the  ocean  spread. 

A  glorious  dream !     Meanwhile  the  sun  has  sped. 

In  vain  the  spirit  plies  her  active  wings 

While  still  to  earth  the  earth-born  body  clings." 

Wagner,  pedant  and  Philistine,  cannot  sympathize 
with  these  yearnings.  "  I  have  had  my  whims,"  he 
says,  "  but  I  never  experienced  such  an  impulse  as  that. 
One  soon  sees  one's  fill  of  woods  and  fields.  From  book 
to  book  is  my  delight." 

The  scene  now  reverts  to  Faust's  study.  Mephisto- 
pheles  appears.  Having  entered  in  the  likeness  of  a 
dog,  he  is  compelled  by  Faust's  conjuration  to  assume 


GOETHE.  311 

the  human  form.    When  questioned  as  to  his  real  nature, 
he  replies  :  — 

Meph.  I  am  a  portion  of  that  power  which  always  wills  the 
bad,  and  always  produces  the  good. 

Faust.  What  mean  you  by  that  riddle  ? 

Meph.  I  am  the  spirit  who  always  denies.  And  rightly,  for 
all  that  comes  into  being  deserves  only  to  perish.  Therefore, 
it  were  better  that  nothing  came  into  being.  So,  then,  all 
that  you  call  sin,  destruction,  —  in  short,  evil,  —  is  my  proper 
element. 

A  colloquy  ensues,  at  the  close  of  which  Mephisto- 
pheles  wishes  to  depart,  but  is  prevented  by  the  figure  of 
the  pentagram  on  the  door-sill.  Faust  refuses  to  re- 
move the  obstruction ;  he  has  the  Devil  imprisoned,  and 
means  for  the  present  to  keep  him.  Mephistopheles  ap- 
pears to  acquiesce,  and  calls  upon  his  spirits  to  entertain 
his  jailer  with  a  song.  They  put  him  to  sleep  with 
that  wonderful  composition  known  in  German  as  the 
Einsehldferungslied  (the  ''lullaby"),  the  peculiarity  of 
which  consists  in  a  series  of  suggestions  of  beautiful 
objects,  which  succeed  each  other  so  rapidly  that  the 
mind,  prevented  from  dwelling  on  any  one  of  them,  is 
hurried  on  from  image  to  image  as  in  a  dream.  Here 
is  a  brief  extract  from  Brooks's  translation :  — 

**  Purple  and  blushing, 
Under  the  crushing 
Wine-presses  gushing, 

Grape-blood  o'erflowing 
Down  over  gleaming 
Precious  stones  streaming, 

Leaves  the  bright  glowing 
Tops  of  the  mountains, 
Leaves  the  red  fountains, 


312  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Widening  and  rushing, 

Till  it  encloses 
Green  hills  all  flushing, 

Laden  with  roses.'* 

When  the  song  ceases,  Faust  is  found  to  have  fallen 
into  a  deep  sleep ;  then  Mephistopheles,  as  lord  of  the 
rats  and  mice,  summons  a  rat  to  nibble  away  the  penta- 
gram, and  so  makes  his  escape. 

In  the  following  scene  he  reappears.  A  contract  is 
concluded,  by  which  Mephistopheles  engages  to  serve 
Faust,  to  be  at  his  beck  and  call  in  this  world,  if  Faust 
on  his  part  will  bind  himself  to  do  the  same  for  Mephis- 
topheles hereafter.  "  The  hereafter,"  says  Faust,  "  need 
not  trouble  me  much  ;  my  joys  and  sorrows  spring  from 
this  world :  once  destroy  this,  and  I  care  not  what  hap- 
pens. If  ever  I  shall  lie  down  satisfied  ;  if  ever  you  can 
flatter  me  into  thinking  that  I  am  happy  ;  if  ever  you 
can  cheat  me  with  enjoyment ;  if  ever  I  shall  say  to  the 
passing  moment,  '  Stay  !  thou  art  so  fair  ! "  —  then  you 
may  lay  me  in  fetters ;  then  may  the  death-bell  sound, 
and  time  for  me  be  no  more." 

This  scene  contains  the  celebrated  curse  which  Faust 
in  his  despair  pronounces  on  the  world  and  all  its  joys : 

*'  Yet  cursed  be  henceforth  all  that  borrows 

A  magic  lure  to  charm  the  breast; 
That  —  prisoned  in  this  cave  of  sorrows  — 

Would  dazzle  me  or  lull  to  rest. 
Cursed,  before  all,  the  high  opinion 

With  which  the  mind  itself  deludes ; 
Cursed  be  Appearance,  whose  dominion 

Its  shows  on  human  sense  intrudes; 
Cursed  all  that  to  ambition  caters 

With  honor  and  a  deathless  name; 
Cursed  all  that  as  possession  flatters,  — 


GOETHE.  313 

As  wife  and  child,  and  goods  and  game. 
Cursed  when  with  hope  of  golden  treasure 

He  spurs  our  spirits  to  the  fight ; 
And  cursed  be  Mammon,  when  for  pleasure 

He  lays  the  tempting  pillow  right. 
Cursed  be  the  grape's  entrancing  potion, 

And  cursed  be  love's  delicious  thrall ; 
And  cursed  be  hope  and  faith's  devotion, 

And  cursed  be  patience  more  than  all." 

To  this  curse  respond  invisible  spirits :  — 

*'  Woe!   Woe! 

Destroyed  it  thou  hast, 

The  beautiful  world, 

With  the  blow  of  thy  fist 

To  ruin  hast  hurled. 

This  hath  a  demigod  shattered! 

Sadly  we  the  lost  surrender. 

Fairer  now, 

Earth's  Son,  in  splendor 

Rarer  now. 

Oh,  recreate  it ! 

In  thine  own  bosom  build  it  again!  '* 

Then  follow  the  scene  in  which  Mephistopheles,  dis- 
guised as  Faust,  mystifies  the  youth  who  comes  to  enter 
the  university ;  the  scene  in  which  he  fools  and  foils  the 
roystering  students  in  Auerbach's  cellar ;  and  the  scene 
in  the  witches'  kitchen,  in  which  Faust  receives  the  po- 
tion that  renews  his  youth. 

After  that  Margaret  is  brought  upon  the  stage ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  play,  with  the  exception  of  the  "  Wal- 
purgis  Night,"  is  occupied  with  the  loves  of  Faust  and 
Margaret,  and  with  Margaret's  unhappy  fate.  This  con- 
stitutes no  part  of  the  Faust-legend  ;  it  is  an  episode  of 
Goethe's  own  creation.     But  the  interest  of  this  episode 


314  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

is  so  intense,  its  pathos  so  overpowering,  that  the  inter- 
polation has  become  the  real  bearer  of  the  drama.  It  is 
this  that  "  Faust "  first  suggests  and  stands  for  with  the 
mass  of  readers. 

The  character  of  Margaret  is  unique ;  its  duplicate  is 
not  to  be  found  in  all  the  picture  galleries  of  fiction. 
Shakspeare,  in  the  wide  range  of  his  feminine  personnel, 
has  no  portrait  like  this.  A  girl  of  low  birth  and  vulgar 
circumstance,  imbued  with  the  ideas  and  habits  of  her 
class,  speaking  the  language  of  that  class  from  which 
she  never  for  a  moment  deviates  into  finer  phrase,  takes 
on,  through  the  magic  handling  of  the  poet,  an  ideal 
beauty.  Externally  common  and  prosaic  in  all  her  ways, 
she  is  yet  thoroughly  poetic,  transfigured  in  our  con- 
ception by  her  perfect  love.  To  that  love,  unreasoning, 
unsuspecting,  —  to  the  excess  of  that  which  in  itself  is  no 
fault,  but  beautiful  and  good, —  her  fall  and  ruin  are  due. 
Her  story  is  the  tragedy  of  her  sex  in  all  time.  As 
Schlegel  said  of  the  "  Prometheus  Bound,"  —  "  It  is  not 
a  single  tragedy,  but  tragedy  itself."  When  Mephisto- 
pheles  with  a  sneer  suggests  that  she  is  not  the  first  who 
incurs  the  doom  that  befalls  her,  Faust,  in  his  transport 
of  penitent  compassion,  bursts  forth  with  the  reply : 

"  "Woe  !  woe  !  by  no  human  soul  to  be  comprehended  ;  that 
more  than  one  being  has  sunk  into  the  depth  of  this  wretched- 
ness ;  that  the  first  did  not  atone  for  all  the  rest  with  her 
writhing  death-agony  in  the  sight  of  the  Ever-pardoning  !  " 

It  is  important  to  note,  as  throwing  light  on  the  au- 
thor's design,  that  surrendered  as  he  is  to  the  reckless 
pursuit  of  pleasure,  Faust's  better  nature  is  not  utterly 
extinguished,  but  asserts  itself  from  time  to  time  in 
strong  rebellion  against  the  dominion  of  his  baser  appe- 


GOETHE.  315 

tites.  The  potion  administered  to  him  in  the  witches' 
kitchen  has  inflamed  his  animal  passions,  and  after  his 
first  encounter  with  Margaret  he  bids  Mephistopheles  to 
deliver  her  at  once  into  his  arms.  Mephistopheles  de- 
clares this  to  be  impossible,  but  engages,  when  Margaret 
is  absent,  to  conduct  Faust  to  her  chamber.  While 
there,  overcome,  it  would  seem,  by  the  spirit  of  the 
place,  the  abode  of  purity  and  innocence,  he  repents 
his  purpose,  upbraids  himself,  and  vows  never  to  re- 
turn. He  will  not  pursue  the  game.  The  box  of  jewels 
which  Mephistopheles  has  brought  as  a  lure  he  does 
not  care  to  leave.  Mephistopheles  ridicules  his  scru- 
ples, and  himself  deposits  the  jewels  in  the  girl's 
wardrobe. 

Again,  after  making  her  acquaintance  and  winning 
her  affection,  he  still  resists  the  temptation  to  abuse  the 
power  he  has  over  her.  He  seeks  to  escape,  by  leaving 
the  city  and  betaking  himself  to  the  wilderness.  But 
Mephistopheles  discovers  his  retreat,  and  works  on  his 
compassion  by  representing  how  Margaret  pines  for  him. 
Faust  replies  :  "  Thou  monster,  begone  !  do  not  speak  to 
me  of  that  beautiful  creature.  Urge  not  the  desire  for 
her  on  my  already  half-crazed  senses."  But  finally,  as  if 
feeling  impelled  by  irresistible  fate,  he  exclaims  :  "  Hell, 
thou  wilt  have  this  victim  !  Help,  devil !  what  must  be, 
let  it  be  done  quickly.  Let  her  doom  fall  upon  me,  that 
we  may  both  go  to  perdition  together  !  "  And  at  last, 
obliged  to  flee  the  city  on  account  of  the  death  of  Valen- 
tine, whom  he  has  killed  in  a  duel,  after  plunging  into  a 
vortex  of  mad  dissipation,  indicated  by  the  revels  of  the 
Walpurgisnaeht^  when  he  hears  of  the  arrest  of  Mar- 
garet, he  does  not  leave  her  to  her  fate,  but  returns  to 
rescue  her  at  the  risk  of  his  life. 


316  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Margaret  is  brought  before  us  in  a  series  of  tableaux 
representing  the  successive  stages  of  her  life's  short 
tragedy.  We  have  the  coy  maiden,  as  she  comes  from 
confession,  resenting  the  offer  of  the  cavalier's  arm.  We 
have  the  young  woman  entrapped  by  her  sex's  love  of 
fmery,  made  aware  of  her  beauty,  rejoicing  in  her  trink- 
ets. We  have  her  at  the  spinning-wheel,  now  pierced  by 
the  fatal  dart. 

*'  Meine  Ruh  ist  bin, 
Mein  Herz  ist  schwer, 
Ich  finde  sie  nimmer 
Und  nimmer  mehr." 

Then,  after  her  fall,  pouring  forth  her  immeasurable 
anguish  at  the  feet  of  the  Mater  dolorosa. 

**  Ach  neige 

Du  Schmerzensreiche 

Dein  Antlitz  gnadig  meiner  Noth." 

Next,  with  the  guilt  of  a  brother's  blood  on  her  soul, 
we  have  that  overpowering  scene  in  the  church,  where 
the  whispers  of  an  accusing  spirit,  suggesting  judgment 
and  hell  torments,  alternate  with  the  victim's  sighs  of 
agony  and  the  words  of  Celano's  awful  hymn ;  and  where 
you  almost  feel,  as  you  read,  the  tremor  from  the  swell 
of  the  mighty  organ. 

Accusing  Spirit.  How  different  it  was,  Gretchen,  in  those 
days  when  you  came  to  the  altar  here,  an  innocent  child,  and 
stammered  your  prayers  out  of  the  little  worn  book,  your  heart 
half  filled  with  childish  sport  and  half  with  God.  Gretchen  ! 
what  have  you  now  in  your  head,  what  misdeed  in  your  heart  ? 
Are  you  praying  for  your  mother's  soul  whom  you  caused  to 
sleep  over  into  the  long,  long  pain  ?  On  your  threshold  whose 
blood  ?  And  under  your  heart  what  is  it  that  already  begins  to 
swell  and  stir,  distressing  with  its  bodeful  presence  ?  " 


GOETHE.  317 

Gretchen.  Woe !  woe  !  Could  I  only  get  rid  of  these 
thoughts  that  go  over  and  over  me  and  persecute  me ! 

"  Dies  irae,  dies  ilia 

Sol  vet  saeclum  in  favilla." 

Accusing  Spirit,  Wrath  is  on  you ;  the  trumpet  sounds,  the 
graves  tremble ;  your  heart,  new  created  for  fiery  torments, 
starts  quaking  from  its  dusty  rest. 

Gretchen.  Could  I  but  away  from  here  !  It  seems  as  if  the 
organ  took  away  my  breath ;  the  singing  melts  my  heart  within 
me. 

*'  Judex  ergo  cum  sedebit 
Quidquid  latet  adparebit, 
Nil  inultum  remanebit." 

Gretchen.  How  close  it  is  !  The  pillared  walls  confine  me, 
the  vaulted  ceiling  oppresses  me.     Air ! 

Accusing  Spirit.  Hide  would  you  ?  Sin  and  shame  cannot 
be  hidden.     Air  ?     Light,  would  you  ?     Alas,  for  you  ! 

**  Quid  sum  miser  tunc  dicturus? 
Quem  patronum  rogaturus? 
Cum  vix  Justus  sit  securus." 

And  finally  the  scene  in  the  prison,  whose  tragic  in- 
tensity literature  has  never  paralleled,  and  can  never  ex- 
ceed. The  lover  and  would-be  deliverer  finds  his  victim 
a  raving  maniac.  She  does  not  recognize  him,  thinks 
he  is  the  executioner  come  before  the  time.  In  vain 
he  kneels  to  her,  till  at  last  a  certain  tone  in  his  voice 
pierces  through  all  the  layers  of  her  imagination,  and 
recalls  the  beloved.  "  Where  is  he  ?  I  heard  him  call 
Gretchen  !  Through  all  the  howling  and  clatter  of  hell, 
through  all  the  grim  devilish  mocking,  I  knew  the  sweet 
loving  sound."  But  her  mind  soon  wanders  again  ;  she 
returns  to  her  raving.  He  cannot  persuade  her  to  go 
with  him.     He  attempts  to  take  her  by  force. 


318  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Gretchen.  Let  me  alone !  I  will  not  suffer  any  violence  ;  do 
not  grasp  me  with  such  murderous  hands.  I  once  did  every- 
thing to  oblige  you. 

Faust.    The  day  is  dawning  ;  my  love,  my  love ! 

Gretchen.  Day  ?  Yes,  the  day  is  coming  ;  the  last  day 
draws  nigh.  It  should  be  my  wedding  day.  Tell  no  one  that 
you  have  been  with  Gretchen  already.  Alas,  for  my  bridal 
wreath  !  It  is  done  for.  We  shall  see  each  other  again,  but 
not  at  the  dance.  There  is  a  crowd  —  they  press ;  no  sound  is 
heard :  the  square,  the  streets  cannot  contain  them.  The  bell 
tolls,  the  wand  is  broken.  I  am  dragged  to  the  block  !  Already 
every  one  feels  aimed  at  their  own  necks  the  blade  which  is 
aimed  at  mine.     The  world  lies  dumb  as  the  grave. 

Faust.    Oh,  that  I  had  never  been  born ! 

Then  Mephistopheles  appears  to  tell  them  there  is  not 
a  moment  to  lose,  —  "  Come,  or  I  will  leave  you  both  in 
the  lurch  !  "  Gretchen  thinks  she  sees  the  Devil  rising 
out  of  the  ground,  and  exclaims  :  — 

"  He  is  come  for  me !  .  .  .  Tribunal  of  God !  I  have  resigned 
myself  to  thee.  .  .  .  Thine  I  am ;  Father,  save  me !  Ye  an- 
gels, heavenly  host,  encamp  around  me,  —  guard  me  !  Henry, 
I  fear  thee !  " 

Meph.  She  is  doomed ! 

A  voice  from  above.  Is  saved ! 

Meph.  to  Faust.  Hither  to  me !    {He  disappears  with  Faust.) 

A  voice  from  within,  dying  on  the  ear.  Henry !  Henry  ! 

So  the  First  Part  ends.  The  reader  is  allowed  to  sup- 
pose —  and  most  readers  did  suppose  —  that  the  author 
meant  it  should  be  inferred  that  the  Devil  had  secured 
his  victim,  and  that  Faust,  according  to  the  legend,  had 
paid  the  forfeit  of  his  soul  to  the  powers  of  hell. 

But  Faust  reappears  in  a  new  poem,  —  the  Second 
Part.     He  is  there  introduced  sleeping,  as  if  burying  in 


GOETHE.  319 

torpor  the  lusts  and  crimes  and  sorrows  of  his  past 
career.  Pitying  spirits  are  about  him,  to  heal  his  woes 
and  promote  his  return  to  a  better  life.  Ariel  addresses 
them  :  — 

"  Ye  who  hover  round  this  head  in  airy  circle,  conduct  your- 
selves here  also  after  the  manner  of  noble  elves !  Allay  the 
grim  conflict  of  the  heart,  withdraw  the  fiery  bitter  darts  of 
self-reproach,  purge  his  soul  of  the  horrors  of  past  experience. 
Four  are  the  pauses  of  the  night ;  fill  them  out  kindly,  without 
delay.  First,  lay  his  head  upon  the  cool  pillow;  then  bathe 
him  with  dew  from  Lethe's  stream.  The  cramp-stiffened  limbs 
will  soon  become  supple,  as  strengthened  he  rests  to  meet  the 
day.  Fulfil  the  fairies'  fairest  task ;  give  him  back  to  the  holy 
light." 

Then  follows,  with  exquisite  melody,  the  choir  of  the 
elves  ;  and  then  Ariel  announces  the  coming  day,  which 
to  spirit-ears  comes  with  a  thunder-crash.  "  Hark ! " 
she  says,  "  it  is  the  storm  of  the  Hours ! "  Faust 
awakes,  and  says  :  — 

"  The  pulses  of  life  beat  with  fresh  vigor  to  greet  the  ethe* 
real  dawn!  Thou,  Earth,  wast  constant  this  night  also,  and 
breathest  new-quickened  at  my  feet.  Already  thou  beginnest 
to  enfold  me  with  joy !  Thou  rousest  and  stirrest  in  me  a 
mighty  resolve  to  aspire  evermore  to  the  highest  being." 

Any  attempt  to  analyze,  much  more  to  expound,  the 
occult  meanings  and  mysteries  of  the  Second  Part  of 
"  Faust "  would  far  exceed  the  scope  of  this  essay.  As 
the  First  Part  deals  with  individual  character  and  des- 
tiny, so  the  Second  spreads  before  us  the  great  wide 
world  of  public  life.  We  have  the  imperial  court,  with 
its  jealousies  and  intrigues,  its  gayeties,  its  financial 
embarrassments,  which  Mephistopheles  relieves  by  a 
Mephistophelian  device,  —  the  issue  of  a  paper  currency ; 


320  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

we  have  war,  we  have  industrial  enterprise,  —  and  in 
the  midst  of  these  we  have  two  interludes ;  in  the  sec- 
ond act  the  "  Classical  Walpurgis  Night,"  which  com- 
mentators interpret  as  symbolizing  a  mediation  between 
the  classic  and  romantic  in  literature  and  art ;  and  for 
the  whole  of  the  third  act  we  have  the  "  Helena,"  sup- 
posed to  symbolize  moral  education  through  the  influ- 
ence of  tlie  beautiful. 

By  the  discipline  of  these  varied  experiences  Faust  is 
led  on  through  the  hundred  years  of  his  earthly  life  to 
the  supreme  moment  when,  contemplating  in  imagina- 
tion the  benefit  which  must  accrue  to  coming  genera- 
tions from  his  labors,  —  a  free  people  on  a  free  soil,  — 
he  exclaims  :  "  Might  I  see  that  consummation,  I  could 
say  to  the  moment,  *  Tarry,  thou  art  so  fair ! '  the 
trace  of  my  earthly  days  will  endure  for  aeons.  ...  In 
anticipation  of  that  exalted  happiness,  I  already  enjoy 
that  highest  moment ! "  Then,  in  accordance  with  his 
own  stipulation  in  the  compact  with  Mephistopheles,  he 
sinks  back  and  expires.  The  Lemures  seize  him  and 
lay  him  in  the  grave.  Mephistopheles  claims  Faust's 
soul,  and  summons  his  spirits  —  the  lean  devils,  with 
long  crooked  horns,  and  the  stout  devils,  with  short 
straight  horns  —  to  aid  him  in  securing  his  prey.  An- 
gels come  to  the  rescue  ;  they  scatter  roses,  which  purify 
the  air  and  charm  the  sleeper  with  dreams  of  paradise, 
singing,  as  they  scatter,  — 

*'  Roses  with  tender  ray, 
Incense  that  render  aye, 
Hovering,  fluttering, 
Secret  life  uttering. 
Leaf -winged,  reposing  here, 
Blossoms  unclosing  here, 
Hasten  to  bloom ! 


GOETHE.  321 

{To  Faust.) 
Spring  round  thee  beaming 

Purple  and  green,  — 
Paradise  dreaming, 

Slumber  serene!  " 

But  the  breath  of  the  demons  blasts  and  wilts  the 
falling  roses  ;  they  shrivel,  and  at  last  take  fire,  and  fall 
flaming  and  scorching  on  the  hellish  crew  until  they  are 
forced  to  retreat,  —  all  but  Mephistopheles,  who  stands 
his  ground ;  but,  entranced  by  the  beauty  of  the  angels, 
he  neglects  his  purpose,  and  fails  to  secure  the  immortal 
part  of  Faust,  which  the  angels  appropriate  and  bear 

aloft :  — 

"  This  member  of  the  upper  spheres 
We  rescue  from  the  Devil, 
For  whoso  strives  and  perseveres 
May  be  redeemed  from  evil." 

The  last  two  lines  may  be  supposed  to  contain  the  au- 
thor's justification  of  Mephistopheles'  defeat  and  Faust's 
salvation.  Though  a  man  surrender  himself  to  evil,  if 
there  is  that  in  him  which  evil  cannot  satisfy,  an  im- 
pulse by  which  he  outgrows  the  gratifications  of  vice, 
extends  his  horizon  and  lifts  his  desires,  pursues  an 
onward  course  until  he  learns  to  place  his  aims  outside 
of  himself,  and  to  seek  satisfaction  in  works  of  public 
utility,  —  he  is  beyond  the  power  of  Satan ;  he  may  be 
redeemed  from  evil. 

One  could  wish,  indeed,  that  more  decisive  marks  of 
moral  development  had  been  exhibited  in  the  latter 
stages  of  Faust's  career.  But  here  comes  in  the  Chris- 
tian doctrine  of  Grace,  which  Goethe  applies  to  the 
problem   of  man's   destiny.      Faust  is   represented   as 

saved  by  no  merit  of  his  own,  but  by  the  interest  which 

21 


322  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Heaven  has  in  every  soul  in  which  there  is  the  possibility 

of  a  heavenly  life. 

And  so  the  new-born  ascending  spirit  is  committed  by 

the  Mater  gloriosa  to  the  tutelage  of  Gretchen,  —  "  una 

poenitentium,"  —  now  purified  from  all  the  stains  of  her 

earthly  life,  to  whom  is  given  the  injunction,  — 

"  Lift  thyself  up  to  higher  spheres! 
When  he  divines,  he  '11  follow  thee." 

And  the  Mystic  Choir  chants  the  epilogue  which  embod- 
ies the  moral  of  the  play,  — 

•'  All  that  is  perishing 

Types  the  ideal ; 
Dream  of  our  cherishing 

Thus  becomes  real. 
Superhumanly 

Here  it  is  done; 
The  ever  womanly 

Draweth  us  on." 


THE   MARCHEN. 

In  the  summer  of  1795  Goethe  composed  for  Schiller's 
new  magazine,  "  Die  Horen,"  a  prose  poem  known  in 
German  literature  as  Das  Mdrchen,  —  "  The  Tale  ; "  as 
if  it  were  the  only  one,  or  the  one  which  more  than  an- 
other deserves  that  appellation. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  author  himself 
claimed  this  pre-eminence  for  his  production.  The  defi- 
nite article  must  be  taken  in  connection  with  what 
precedes  it  in  the  "  Unterhaltungen  Deutscher  Ausge- 
wanderten  ; "  it  was  that  tale  which  the  Abbe  had  prom- 
ised for  the  evening's  entertainment  of  the  company. 

Goethe  gave  this  essay  to  the  public  as  a  riddle  which 
would  probably  be  unintelligible  at  the  time,  but  which 


GOETHE.  323 

might  perhaps  find  an  interpreter  after  many  days, 
when  the  hints  contained  in  it  should  be  verified.  Since 
its  first  appearance  commentators  have  exercised  their 
ingenuity  upon  it,  perceiving  it  to  be  allegorical,  but 
until  recently  without  success.  They  made  the  mistake 
of  looking  too  far  and  too  deep  for  the  interpretation. 
Carlyle,  who  in  1832  published  a  translation  of  it  in 
"  Eraser's  Magazine,"  and  who  pronounces  it  "  one  of 
the  notablest  performances  produced  for  the  last  thou- 
sand years,"  says :  "  So  much  however  I  will  stake  my 
whole  money  capital  and  literary  character  upon,  that 
here  is  a  wonderful  Emblem  of  Universal  History  set 
forth,"  etc. 

But  Goethe  was  not  the  man  to  concern  himself  with 
such  wide  generalities.  He  preferred  to  deal  with  what 
is  present  and  palpable,  and  the  inferences  to  be  deduced 
therefrom. 

Dr.  Hermann  Baumgart  in  1875,  under  the  title 
"  Goethe's  Marchen,  ein  politisch-nationales  Glaubens- 
bekennntiss  des  Dichter's,"  wrote  a  commentary  on 
"  The  Tale,"  which  gives  what  is  probably  the  true  ex- 
planation. If  it  does  not  solve  every  difficulty,  it  solves 
more  difficulties  and  throws  more  light  on  the  poem 
than  any  previous  intepretation  had  done.  I  follow  his 
lead  in  the  exposition  which  I  now  offer. 

"  The  Tale  "  is  a  prophetic  vision  of  the  destinies  of 
Germany,  —  an  allegorical  foreshowing  at  the  close  of 
the  eighteenth  century  of  what  Germany  was  yet  to  be- 
come, and  has  in  great  part  already  become.  A  position 
is  predicted  for  her  like  that  which  she  occupied  from 
the  time  of  Charles  the  Great  to  the  time  of  Charles  Y., 
—  a  period  during  which  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  of 


324  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Germany  was  the  leading  secular  power  in  Western 
Europe. 

That  time  had  gone  by.  Since  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth century  Germany  had  declined,  and  at  the  date  of 
this  writing  (1795)  had  nearly  reached  her  darkest  day. 
Disintegrated,  torn  by  conflicting  interests,  pecked  by 
petty  rival  princes,  despairing  of  her  own  future,  it 
seemed  impossible  that  she  should  ever  again  become 
a  power  among  the  nations. 

Goethe  felt  this  ;  he  felt  it  as  profoundly  as  any  Ger- 
man of  his  day.  He  has  been  accused  of  want  of  pa- 
triotism, and  incurred  much  censure  for  that  alleged 
defect.  He  certainly  did  not  manifest  his  patriotism 
by  loud  declamation.  During  the  War  of  Liberation  he 
made  no  sign.  Under  the  reign  of  the  Holy  Alliance 
he  did  not  side  with  the  hotheads  —  compeers  of  Sand 
—  who  placed  themselves  in  open  opposition  to  the  Gov- 
ernment. He  could  not  echo  their  cry.  They  were 
revolutionists  ;  he  was  an  evolutionist.  And  they  hated 
him,  they  maligned  him,  they  invented  all  manner  of 
scandal  against  him.  They  accused  him  of  abusing  the 
affections  of  women  for  literary  purposes  ;  they  even 
affected  to  depreciate  his  genius.  Borne  pronounced 
him  a  model  of  all  that  is  bad.  Menzel  wrote  :  "  Mark 
my  words :  in  twenty,  or  at  the  longest  thirty,  years  he 
will  not  have  an  admirer  left ;  no  one  will  read  him." 
There  was  nothing  too  bad  to  be  said  of  Goethe ;  he  was 
publicly  held  up  for  reprobation  and  scorn.  It  was  as 
much  as  one's  reputation  was  worth  to  speak  well  of 
him. 

Goethe,  I  say,  was  charged  with  want  of  patriotism. 
He  was  no  screamer  ;  but  he  felt  profoundly  his  coun- 
try's woes,  and  he  characteristically  went  into  himself 


GOETHE.  325 

and  studied  the  situation.  The  result  was  this  wonder- 
ful composition,  —  "  Das  Marchen." 

He  perceived  that  Germany  must  die  to  be  born  again. 
She  did  die,  and  is  born  again.  He  had  the  sagacity  to 
foresee  the  dissolution  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  —  an 
event  which  took  place  eleven  years  later,  in  1806.  The 
Empire  is  figured  by  the  composite  statue  of  the  fourth 
King  in  the  subterranean  Temple,  which  crumbles  to 
pieces  when  that  Temple,  representing  Germany's  past, 
emerges  and  stands  above  ground  by  the  River.  The 
resurrection  of  the  Temple  and  its  stand  by  the  River  is 
the  denouement  of  the  Tale.  And  that  signifies,  alle- 
gorically,  the  rehabilitation  of  Germany. 

The  agents  that  are  to  bring  about  this  consumma- 
tion are  the  spread  of  liberal  ideas,  signified  by  the  gold 
of  the  Will-o'-wisps ;  Literature,  signified  by  the  Ser- 
pent ;  Science,  signified  by  the  Old  Man  with  the  Lamp ; 
and  the  Church,  or  Religion,  signified  by  his  wife.  The 
Genius  of  Germany  is  figured  by  the  beautiful  Youth, 
the  disconsolate  Prince,  who  dies  of  devotion  to  the  Fair 
Lily.     The  Lily  herself  represents  the  Ideal. 

Having  premised  thus  much,  I  now  proceed  to  unfold 
the  Tale,  with  accompanying  comments,  omitting  how- 
ever some  of  the  details,  and  presenting  only  the  organic 
moments  of  the  fable. 

In  the  middle  of  a  dark  night  (the  dark  period  of 
German  history)  the  ferryman  asleep  in  his  hut  by  the 
side  of  a  swollen  river  is  awakened  by  the  cry  of  parties 
demanding  to  be  ferried  across  the  stream. 

Here  let  us  pause  a  moment.  The  Hut,  according  to 
Baumgart,  is  the  provisional  State  (Nothstaat),  —  the 
government  for  the  time  being.  The  Ferryman  then  is 
the  State  functionary,  who  regulates  and  controls  civil 


326  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

intercourse.  The  River  represents  that  intercourse, — 
the  flow  of  current  events,  —  swollen  by  the  French 
Revolution.  Now,  a  river  is  separation  and  communica- 
tion in  one.  The  Rhine,  which  separates  Germany  from 
France,  is  also  a  medium  of  communication  between  the 
two.  What  is  it  then  that  the  River  in  the  "  Marchen  " 
separates  and  mediates  ?  This  is  a  difficult  question.  No 
interpretation  tallies  exactly  with  all  the  particulars  of 
the  allegory.  The  most  satisfactory  is  that  of  a  separation 
and  a  means  of  communication  between  State  and  people ; 
between  official,  established  tradition  and  popular  life. 

To  return  to  the  story.  The  Ferryman,  roused  from 
his  slumbers,  opens  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  sees  two 
Will-o'-wisps,  who  are  impatient  to  be  put  across.  These 
are  the  bearers  of  the  new  ideas,  which  proved  so  stimu- 
lating to  the  German  mind,  —  giving  rise  to  what  is 
known  in  German  literature  as  the  Aufklarung  ("  en- 
lightenment ").  Why  called  Will-o'-wisps  ?  They  come 
from  France,  and  the  poet  means  by  their  flashes  and 
vivacity,  as  contrasted  with  German  gravity,  to  indicate 
their  French  origin.  They  cause  the  Ferryman  much 
trouble  by  their  activity.  They  shake  gold  into  his  boat 
(that  is,  talk  philosophy,  —  the  philosophy  of  the  French 
Encyclopaedists)  ;  he  fears  that  some  of  it  might  fall 
into  the  stream,  and  then  there  would  be  mischief, — 
the  stream  would  rise  in  terrible  waves  and  engulf  him. 
(The  new  ideas  were  very  radical ;  and  if  allowed  to 
circulate  freely  in  social  converse  might  cause  a  revo- 
lution.) He  bids  them  take  back  their  gold.  "  We  can- 
not take  back  what  we  have  once  given  forth."  (The 
word  once  spoken  cannot  be  unspoken.) 

When  they  reach  the  opposite  shore  the  Ferryman  de- 
mands his  fare.     They  reply,  that  he  who  will  not  take 


GOETHE.  327 

gold  for  pay  must  go  unpaid.  He  demands  fruits  of  the 
earth  (that  is,  practical  service),  which  they  despise. 
They  attempt  to  depart,  but  find  it  impossible  to  move. 
(Philosophy  without  practical  ability  can  make  no  head- 
way in  real  life.)  He  finally  releases  them  on  their 
promise  to  bring  to  the  River  three  cabbages,  three  arti- 
chokes, and  three  onions. 

I  am  not  aware  that  there  is  any  particular  signifi- 
cance in  the  several  kinds  of  vegetables  here  specified. 
The  general  meaning  is,  that  whoever  would  work 
effectually  in  his  time  must  satisfy  the  necessities  of 
the  time,  —  must  pay  his  toll  to  the  State  with  contri- 
butions of  practical  utility. 

The  Ferryman  then  rows  down  the  stream,  gathers 
up  the  gold  that  has  fallen  into  the  boat,  goes  ashore 
and  buries  it  in  an  out-of-the-way  place  in  the  cleft  of  a 
rock,  then  rows  back  to  his  hut.  Now,  in  the  rock-cleft, 
into  which  the  gold  had  been  cast,  dwelt  the  Green  Ser- 
pent. The  Serpent  is  supposed  to  represent  German 
Literature,  which  until  then  had  kept  itself  aloof  from 
the  world,  had  wandered  as  it  were  in  a  wilderness  ;  but 
the  time  was  now  come  when  it  was  to  receive  new  light 
and  be  quickened  with  new  impulse.  She  hears  the  chink 
of  the  falling  gold-pieces,  darts  upon  them,  and  eagerly 
devours  them.  They  melt  in  her  interior,  and  she  be- 
comes self-luminous,  —  a  thing  that  she  had  always  been 
hoping  for,  but  had  never  until  then  attained.  Proud  of 
her  new  lustre,  she  sallies  forth  to  discover  if  possible 
whence  the  gold  which  came  to  her  had  been  derived. 
She  encounters  the  Will-o'-wisps,  and  claims  relationship 
with  them. 

"  Well,  yes,"  they  allow,  "  you  are  a  kind  of  cousin ; 
but  you  are  in  the  horizontal  line, — we  are  vertical.    See 


328  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

here."  They  shoot  up  to  their  utmost  height.  "  Pardon 
us,  good  lady,  but  what  other  family  can  boast  of  any- 
thing like  that  ?    No  Will-o'-wisp  ever  sits  or  lies  down." 

The  Serpent  is  somewhat  abashed  by  the  comparison. 
She  knows  very  well  that  although  when  at  rest  she  can 
lift  her  head  pretty  high,  she  must  bend  to  earth  again 
to  make  any  progress.  She  inquires  if  they  can  tell  her 
where  the  gold  came  from  which  dropped  in  the  cave 
where  she  resides.  They  are  amused  at  the  question, 
and  immediately  shake  from  themselves  a  shower  of 
gold  pieces,  which  she  greedily  devours.  "  Much  good 
may  it  do  you,  madam."  In  return  for  this  service  they 
desire  to  be  shown  the  way  to  the  abode  of  the  Fair  Lily, 
to  whom  they  would  pay  their  respects.  (The  Fair  Lily 
represents  Ideal  Beauty.)  The  Serpent  is  sorry  to  in- 
form them  that  the  Lily  dwells  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river. 

"  On  the  other  side  !  "  they  exclaim,  "  and  we  let  our- 
selves be  ferried  across  to  this  side  last  night  in  the 
storm  !  But  perhaps  the  Ferryman  may  be  still  within 
call,  and  be  willing  to  take  us  back."  "  No,"  she  says ; 
"  he  can  bring  passengers  from  the  other  side  to  this,  but 
is  not  permitted  to  take  any  one  back." 

The  interpretation  here  is  doubtful.  It  may  mean 
that  while  a  jealous  Government  is  willing  to  assist  in 
the  deportation  of  questionable  characters,  it  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them  on  its  own  ground. 

But  besides  the  government  ferry,  there  are  other 
means  of  getting  across.  The  Serpent  herself,  by  making 
a  bridge  of  her  body,  can  take  them  across  at  high  noon. 
(Literature,  in  its  supreme  achievements,  —  its  meridian 
power, — becomes  a  vehicle  of  ideas  which  defies  political 
embargo.) 


GOETHE.  829 

But  Will-o'-wisps  do  not  travel  at  noonday.  Another 
passage  is  possible  at  morning  and  evening  twilight,  by 
means  of  the  shadow  of  the  great  Giant.  The  Giant's 
body  is  powerless,  but  its  shadow  is  mighty,  and  when 
the  sun  is  low  stretches  across  the  River. 

Here  all  commentators  seem  to  agree  in  one  inter- 
pretation. Says  Carlyle,  "  Can  any  mortal  head,  not  a 
wigblock,  doubt  that  the  Giant  of  this  poem  is  Super- 
stition ? "  This  is  loosely  expressed.  Unquestionably 
superstition,  in  the  way  of  fable  or  foreboding,  stretches 
far  into  the  unknown.  But  it  is  a  shadow,  according  to 
"  The  Tale,"  which  possesses  this  power.  Now,  to  make 
a  shadow  two  things  are  needed,  —  light,  and  a  body 
which  intercepts  the  light.  The  body  in  this  case  is 
popular  ignorance ;  that  is  the  real  Giant.  Superstition 
is  that  Giant's  shadow,  —  strongest  and  longest,  of 
course,  when  the  sun  is  low. 

Thus  instructed,  the  Will-o'-wisps  take  their  leave, 
and  the  Serpent  returns  to  her  cave. 

Now  follows  the  scene  in  the  subterranean  Temple, 
the  Temple  of  the  Four  Kings,  by  which  we  are  to 
understand  historic  Germany,  —  the  Germany  of  old 
time.  The  Serpent  has  discovered  this  Temple,  and 
having  become  luminous  is  able  to  see  what  it  contains. 
There  are  the  statues  of  four  kings.  The  first  is  of 
gold,  the  second  of  silver,  the  third  of  bronze,  the  fourth 
a  compound  of  several  metals.  The  first  king,  who 
wears  a  plain  mantle  and  no  ornament  but  a  garland  of 
oak  leaves,  represents  the  rule  of  Wisdom  and  acknowl- 
edged worth.  The  second,  who  sits,  and  is  highly  dec- 
orated,—  robe,  crown,  sceptre,  adorned  with  precious 
stones,  —  represents  the  rule  of  Appearance  (^ScheiTi), — 
majesty  supported  by  prestige  and  tradition.    The  third, 


330  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

also  sitting,  represents  Government  by  Force.  The 
fourth,  the  composite  figure  in  a  standing  posture,  rep- 
resents the  Holy  Roman  Empire  of  Germany.  The 
Serpent  has  been  discoursing  with  the  Gold  King,  when 
the  wall  opens,  and  enters  an  old  man  of  middle  stat- 
ure, in  peasant's  dress,  carrying  a  lamp,  with  a  still 
flame  pleasing  to  look  upon,  which  illumines  the  whole 
Temple  without  casting  any  shadow.  This  lamp  pos- 
sesses the  strange  property  of  changing  stones  into  gold, 
wood  into  silver,  dead  animals  into  precious  stones,  and 
of  annihilating  metals.  But  to  exercise  this  power  it 
must  shine  alone ;  if  another  light  appears  beside  it,  it 
only  diffuses  a  clear  radiance,  by  which  all  living  things 
are  refreshed. 

The  bearer  of  this  lamp  is  supposed,  by  Baumgart,  to 
represent  Science  ( Wissenscha/t')  ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  his  function  includes  practical  wisdom  as  well. 
What  is  signified  by  the  marvellous  properties  of  the 
lamp  must  be  left  to  each  reader  to  conjecture. 

"  Why  do  you  come,"  asks  the  Gold  King  of  the  Man 
with  the  lamp,  "  seeing  we  already  have  light  ?  "  "  You 
know  that  I  cannot  enlighten  what  is  wholly  dark,"  is 
the  reply.  (Wisdom  does  not  concern  itself  with  what  is 
unsearchable,  —  with  matters  transcending  human  ken.) 
"  Will  my  kingdom  end  ?  "  asks  the  Silver  King.  "  Late 
or  never."  The  Brazen  King  asks,  "  When  shall  I 
arise  ?  "  The  answer  is,  "  Soon."  "  With  whom  shall 
I  combine  ? "  "  With  your  elder  brothers."  What  will 
the  youngest  do  ?  "  inquired  the  King.  "  He  will  sit 
down,"  replied  the  Man  with  the  lamp.  "  I  am  not 
tired,"  growled  the  fourth  king.  (The  Empire,  even  at 
that  date,  was  still  tenacious  of  its  sway.) 

Again   the   Gold   King   asks   of   the   Man   with   the 


GOETHE.  331 

lamp,  "  How  many  secrets  knowest  thou  ? "  "  Three," 
replied  the  Man.  "  Which  is  the  most  important  ?  "  asks 
the  Silver  King.     "  The  open  secret,"  the  Man  replies. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  a  truth  or  conviction  is,  as 
we  say,  "  in  the  air,"  before  the  word  which  formulates 
it  has  been  spoken ;  it  is  an  open  secret.  Thus,  in  the 
closing  months  of  1860,  "  Secession  "  was  in  the  air ;  it 
was  our  open  secret. 

"'  Wilt  thou  open  it  to  us  also  ? "  asks  the  Brazen 
King.  "When  I  know  the  fourth,"  replied  the  Man. 
"  I  know  the  fourth,"  said  the  Serpent,  and  whispered 
something  in  the  ear  of  the  Man  with  the  lamp.  He 
cried  with  a  loud  voice,  "  The  time  is  at  hand !  "  The 
Temple  resounded,  the  statues  rang  with  the  cry ;  and 
immediately  the  Man  with  the  lamp  vanished  to  the 
west,  the  Serpent  to  the  east. 

Here  ends  the  first  act  of  this  prophetic  drama.  The 
Man  with  the  lamp  returns  to  his  cottage,  where  the 
Old  Woman  —  his  wife  —  greets  him  with  loud  lamenta- 
tions. "  Scarcely  were  you  gone,"  she  whimpers,  "  when 
two  impetuous  travellers  called ;  they  were  dressed  in 
flames,  and  seemed  quite  respectable.  One  might  have 
taken  them  for  Will-o'-wisps.  But  they  soon  began  to 
flatter  me,  and  made  impertinent  advances."  "  Pooh ! 
they  were  only  chaffing  you.  Considering  your  age,  my 
dear,  they  could  n't  have  meant  anything  serious."  "  My 
age,  indeed  I  always  my  age  !  How  old  am  I,  then  ? 
But  I  know  one  thing.  Just  look  at  these  walls  !  See 
the  bare  stones  !  They  have  licked  off  all  the  gold ;  and 
when  they  had  done  it,  they  dropped  gold  pieces  about. 
Our  dear  pug  swallowed  some  of  them ;  and  see  there ! 
the  poor  creature  lies  dead." 


332  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

The  Old  Woman  represents  the  Church,  —  the  ac- 
cepted traditional  religion.  There  is  a  beautiful  fitness 
in  this  symbolism.  Science  and  religion,  knowledge  and 
faith,  are  mutually  complemental  in  human  life.  The 
little  pug  may  mean  some  pet  dogma  of  the  Church  ; 
Baumgart  suggests  belief  in  the  supernatural,  to  which 
modern  enlightenment  (the  gold  of  the  Will-o'wisps) 
proves  fatal.  The  little  pug  dies  ;  but  a  doctrine  which 
perishes,  which  becomes  obsolete  as  popular  belief,  may 
become  historically  precious  as  myth.  This  is  what  is 
meant  when  it  is  said,  farther  on,  that  the  Old  Man  with 
his  lamp  changes  the  pug  to  an  onyx.  Moreover,  when 
such  myth  is  embraced  by  poetry,  it  acquires  a  new, 
transfigured,  immortal  life.  Thus  the  gods  of  Greece 
still  live,  and  live  forever,  in  Homer's  song.  In  this 
sense,  with  this  aim,  the  Man  with  the  lamp  sends  the 
onyx  pug  to  the  Fair  Lily,  whose  touch  causes  dead 
things  to  live. 

The  Old  Woman  had  incautiously  promised  the  Will- 
o'-wisps  (in  order,  we  may  suppose,  to  get  rid  of  them) 
to  pay  their  debt  to  the  Eiver,  of  three  cabbages,  three 
artichokes,  and  three  onions.  But  why  did  they  visit 
her  cottage  at  all;  and  why  so  intent  on  the  obsolete 
gold  on  its  walls  ?  The  answer  is,  modern  culture  knows 
full  well  that  the  Church  is  the  depositary  of  many  pre- 
cious truths  which,  though  no  longer  current  in  the  form 
in  which  they  were  once  clothed,  approve  and  justify 
themselves  when  restated  and  given  to  the  world  in  a 
new  form.  So  they  —  the  New  Lights  —  say  in  effect  to 
the  Church,  "  Old  Lady,  you  are  somewhat  out  of  date ; 
if  you  mean  to  keep  your  place  and  vindicate  your  right 
to  be,  you  must  throw  yourself  into  the  life  of  the  time  ; 
you  must  contribute  something  useful  to  forward  that 


GOETHE.  333 

life.  It  is  through  you  that  the  new  philosophy  must 
discharge  its  debt  to  the  River  "  (that  is,  to  the  life  of 
the  time). 

The  Man  with  the  lamp  approves  and  seconds  the 
commission  intrusted  to  his  wife  by  the  Will-o'-wisps, 
and  at  dawn  of  day  loads  her  with  the  cabbages,  the 
artichokes,  and  the  onions  destined  for  the  River,  to 
which  he  adds  the  onyx  as  a  present  to  the  Fair  Lily. 
The  first  part  of  her  mission  is  a  failure.  On  her  way 
to  the  ferry  she  encounters  the  Shadow  of  the  blunder- 
ing Giant  stretching  across  the  plain.  The  Shadow  un- 
ceremoniously puts  its  black  fingers  into  her  basket, 
takes  out  three  vegetables,  —  one  of  each  kind,  —  and 
thrusts  them  into  the  mouth  of  the  Giant,  who  greedily 
devours  them.  (Some  freak  of  popular  ignorance  inter- 
cepts and  impairs  the  practical  benefit  which  the  new 
culture,  through  the  Church,  had  hoped  to  confer  on  the 
age.) 

The  Ferryman  refuses  to  accept  the  imperfect  offering 
as  full  satisfaction  of  the  Will-o'-wisps'  debt,  and  only 
consents  at  last  to  receive  it  provisionally,  if  the  Old 
Woman  will  swear  to  make  the  number  good  within 
twenty-four  hours.  She  is  required  to  dip  her  hand  in 
the  stream  and  take  the  oath.  She  dips  and  swears. 
But  when  she  withdraws  her  hand,  behold  !  it  has  turned 
black ;  and,  what  is  worse,  has  grown  smaller,  and  seems 
likely  to  disappear  altogether.  (The  apparent  dignity  of 
the  Church  is  impaired  by  contact  with  vulgar  life.) 

"  Oh,  woe  ! "  she  cries.  "  My  beautiful  hand,  which  I 
have  taken  so  much  pains  with  and  have  always  kept  so 
nice  !  What  will  become  of  me  ? "  The  Ferryman  tries 
to  comfort  her  with  the  assurance  that  although  the 
hand  might  become  invisible,  she  would  be  able  to  use 


334  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN   CLASSICS. 

it  all  the  same.  "  But,"  says  she,  "  I  would  rather  not 
be  able  to  use  it  than  not  have  it  seen."  (Here  is  a 
stroke  of  satire  on  the  part  of  the  poet,  implying  that 
the  Church  cares  more  for  the  show  of  authority  than 
for  the  substance.) 

Sad  and  sullen  the  Old  Woman  takes  up  her  basket 
and  bends  her  steps  toward  the  abode  of  the  Fair  Lily. 
On  the  way  she  overtakes  a  pilgrim  more  disconsolate 
than  herself,  —  a  beautiful  youth,  with  noble  features, 
abundant  brown  locks,  his  breast  covered  with  glittering 
mail,  a  purple  cloak  depending  from  his  shoulders.  His 
naked  feet  paced  the  hot  sand  ;  profound  grief  appeared 
to  render  him  insensible  to  external  impressions.  The 
Old  Woman  endeavors  to  open  a  conversation  with  him, 
but  receives  no  encouragement.  She  desists  with  the 
apology,  "  You  walk  too  slow  for  me,  sir.  I  must  hurry 
on,  for  I  have  to  cross  the  River  on  the  Green  Serpent, 
that  I  may  take  this  present  from  my  husband  to  the 
Fair  Lily."  "  You  are  going  to  the  Fair  Lily  ?"  he  cried ; 
"  then  our  roads  are  the  same.  But  what  is  this  present 
you  are  bringing  her  ?  "  She  showed  him  the  onyx  pug. 
"  Happy  beast !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  thou  wilt  be  touched 
by  her  hands,  thou  wilt  be  made  alive  by  her  ;  whereas 
the  living  are  forced  to  stand  aloof  from  her  lest  they 
experience  a  mournful  doom.  Look  at  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  how  sad  my  condition !  This  mail  which  I 
have  worn  with  honor  in  war,  this  purple  which  I  have 
sought  to  merit  by  wise  conduct,  are  all  that  is  left  me 
by  fate,  —  the  one  a  useless  burden,  the  other  an  un- 
meaning decoration.  Crown,  sceptre,  and  sword  are 
gone  ;  I  am  in  all  other  respects  as  naked  and  needy  as 
any  son  of  earth.  So  unblest  is  the  influence  of  her 
beautiful  blue  eyes !  they  deprive  all  living  beings  of 


GOETHE.  335 

their  strength,  and  those  who  are  not  killed  by  the 
touch  of  her  hand  find  themselves  turned  into  walking 
shadows." 

This  is  finely  conceived.  The  Youth,  the  Prince  who 
has  lost  sceptre  and  sword,  represents  the  Genius  of  Ger- 
many, once  so  stalwart  and  capable  in  action,  now  (at 
the  time  of  Goethe's  writing)  enervated  and  become  a 
melancholy  dreamer  from  excessive  devotion  to  the  Lily, 
that  is,  excessive  Idealism  ;  whereby 

*'  Enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment 

their  currents  turn  awry, 

And  lose  the  name  of  action." 

Such  was  Germany  in  those  days.  And  even  later, 
Freiligrath  compared  her  to  Hamlet,  in  whom 

"  The  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought." 

The  travellers  cross  the  bridge  which  the  Serpent 
makes  for  them.  The  Serpent  herself  straightens  out 
her  bow  and  accompanies  them.  On  the  way  the  Will-o'- 
wisps,  invisible  in  broad  day,  are  heard  whispering  a  re- 
quest to  the  Serpent  that  she  would  introduce  them  to 
the  Lily  in  the  evening,  as  soon  as  they  should  be  any 
way  presentable.  The  Lily  receives  her  visitors  gra- 
ciously, but  with  an  air  of  deep  dejection.  She  imparts 
to  the  Old  Woman  her  recent  affliction.  While  her  pet 
canary-bird  was  warbling  its  morning  hymn,  a  Hawk  ap- 
peared in  the  air  and  threatened  to  pounce  upon  it.  The 
frightened  creature  sought  refuge  in  its  mistress's  bosom, 
and,  like  all  living  things,  was  killed  by  her  touch.  (The 
Hawk  represents  the  newly  awakened,  impatient  spirit  of 
German  Patriotism,  which  scared  into  silence  the  lighter 
lyrics  of  the  time.) 


336  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  Old  Woman  presents  the  onyx  pug,  and  the  Lily 
is  delighted  with  the  gift.  Her  touch  gives  it  life.  She 
plays  with  it,  caresses  it.  The  melancholy  youth  who 
stands  hy  and  looks  on  is  maddened  with  jealousy  at  the 
sight.  "  Must  a  nasty  little  beast  be  so  fondled,  and  re- 
ceive her  kiss  on  its  black  snout,  while  I,  her  adorer,  am 
kept  at  a  distance  ?  "  At  last  he  can  bear  it  no  longer, 
and  resolves  to  perish  in  her  arms.  He  rushes  towards 
her  ;  she,  knowing  the  consequence,  instinctively  puts 
out  her  arms  to  ward  him  off,  and  thereby  hastens  the 
catastrophe.     The  youth  falls  lifeless  at  her  feet. 

Here  ends  the  second  act.  The  Genius  of  Germany  is 
apparently  extinct.  Can  it  be  revived  ?  The  third  and 
final  act  foreshows  its  revival,  —  the  political  rehabilita- 
tion of  Germany.  I  am  compelled  by  want  of  space  to 
omit,  in  what  follows,  many  of  the  accessories,  —  such 
as  the  female  attendants  of  the  Lily,  the  mirror,  the  last 
desperate  freaks  of  the  Giant,  etc.,  —  and  to  keep  myself 
to  the  main  thread  of  the  story. 

The  first  object  now,  on  the  part  of  those  interested, 
is  to  prevent  corruption,  which  would  make  resuscitation 
impossible.  So  the  Serpent  forms  with  her  body  a  cor- 
don around  the  lifeless  form  of  the  Youth  to  protect  it, 
"  Who  will  fetch  the  Man  with  the  lamp  ?  "  she  cries, 
fearing  every  moment  that  the  sun  will  set  and  dissolu- 
tion penetrate  the  magic  circle,  causing  the  body  of  the 
Youth  to  fall  in  pieces.  At  length  she  espies  the  Hawk 
in  the  air,  and  hails  the  auspicious  omen.  (Patriotism 
still  lives.) 

Shortly  after,  the  Man  with  the  lamp  appears. 
"  Whether  I  can  help,"  he  says,  "  I  know  not.  The 
individual  by  himself  cannot  do  much,  but  only  he  who 


GOETHE.  337 

at  the  proper  moment  combines  with  many."  (All  who 
have  their  country's  salvation  at  heart  must  join  their 
forces  in  time  of  need.) 

Night  comes  on.  The  Old  Man  glances  at  the  stars 
and  says,  "  We  are  here  at  the  propitious  hour  ;  let  each 
do  his  duty  and  perform  his  part."  The  Serpent  then 
began  to  stir  ;  she  loosened  her  enfolding  circle,  and  slid 
m  large  volumes  toward  the  River.  The  Will-o'-wisps 
followed.  The  Old  Man  and  his  Wife  seized  the  basket, 
lifted  into  it  the  body  of  the  Youth,  and  laid  the  Canary- 
bird  upon  his  breast.  The  basket  rose  of  itself  into  the 
air,  and  hovered  over  the  Old  Woman's  head.  She  fol- 
lowed the  Will-o'-wisps.  The  Fair  Lily  with  the  pug  in 
her  arms  followed  the  Woman,  and  the  Man  with  the 
lamp  closed  the  procession.  The  Serpent  bridged  the 
River  for  them,  and  then  drew  her  circle  again  around 
the  basket  containing  the  body  of  the  Youth.  The  Old 
Man  stoops  down  to  her  and  asks,  "  What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do  ?  "  "  Sacrifice  myself,"  she  answers,  "  rather 
than  be  sacrificed."  The  Man  bids  the  Lily  touch  the 
Serpent  with  one  hand  and  the  body  of  the  Youth  with 
the  other.  She  does  so,  and  behold!  the  Youth  comes 
to  life  again,  but  not  to  full  consciousness.  Then 
the  Serpent  bursts  asunder.  Her  form  breaks  into 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  glittering  jewels.  These 
the  Man  with  the  lamp  gathers  up  and  casts  into  the 
stream,  where  they  afterward  form  a  solid  and  perma- 
nent bridge. 

The  Old  Man  now  leads  the  party  to  the  cave.  They 
stand  before  the  Temple  barred  with  golden  lock  and 
bolt.  The  Will-o'-wisps  at  the  bidding  of  the  Old  Man 
melt  bolt  and  lock  with  their  flames,  and  the  company 
are  in  the  presence  of  the  Four  Kings.     "  Whence  come 

22 


338  HOURS  WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ye  ? "  asks  the  Gold  King.  "  From  the  world,"  is  the 
reply.  "  Whither  go  ye  ? "  asked  the  Silver  King.  "  Into 
the  world."  "  What  would  ye  with  us  ? "  asked  the 
Brazen  King.  "  Accompany  you,"  said  the  Old  Man. 
"  Who  will  govern  the  world  ? "  asked  the  Composite 
King.  "  He  who  stands  on  his  feet,"  is  the  answer. 
"  That  am  I,"  said  the  King.  '*  We  shall  see,"  said 
the  Old  Man,  "  for  the  time  is  come." 

Then  the  ground  beneath  them  began  to  tremble ;  the 
Temple  was  in  motion.  For  a  few  moments  a  fine  shower 
seemed  to  drizzle  from  above.  "  We  are  now  beneath 
the  River,"  said  the  Old  Man.  The  Temple  mounts  up- 
ward. Suddenly  a  crash  is  heard  ;  planks  and  beams 
come  through  the  opening  of  the  dome.  It  is  the  old 
Ferryman's  hut,  which  the  Temple  in  its  ascent  had  de- 
tached from  the  ground.  It  descends  and  covers  the  Old 
Man  and  the  Youth.  The  women,  who  find  themselves 
excluded,  beat  against  the  door  of  the  Hut,  which  is 
locked.  After  a  while  the  door  and  walls  begin  to  ring 
with  a  metallic  sound.  The  flame  of  the  Old  Man's  lamp 
has  converted  the  wood  into  silver.  The  very  form  has 
changed  ;  the  Hut  has  become  a  smaller  temple,  or,  if  you 
will,  a  shrine,  within  the  larger. 

Observe  the  significance  of  this  feature  of  "The  Tale." 
The  Hut,  as  was  said,  represents  the  existing  Govern- 
ment. New  Germany  is  not  to  be  the  outcome  of  a  vio- 
lent revolution  forcibly  abolishing  the  old,  but  a  natural 
growth  receiving  the  old  into  itself,  assimilating  and 
embodying  it  in  a  new  constitution. 

When  the  Youth  came  forth  from  the  transformed  Hut, 
it  was  in  company  with  a  man  clad  in  a  white  robe,  bear- 
ing a  silver  oar  in  his  hand.  This  was  the  old  Ferryman, 
now  to  become  a  functionary  in  the  new  State. 


GOETHE.  339 

As  soon  as  the  rising  sun  illumined  the  cupola  of  the 
Temple,  the  Old  Man,  standing  between  the  Youth  and 
the  Maiden  (the  Lily),  said  with  a  loud  voice,  "  There 
are  three  that  reign  on  earth,  —  Wisdom,  Show,  Force." 
When  the  first  was  named,  up  rose  the  Gold  King ;  with 
the  second,  the  Silver.  The  Brazen  King  was  rising 
slowly  at  the  sound  of  the  third,  when  the  Composite 
King  (the  Holy  Roman  Empire)  suddenly  collapsed  into 
a  shapeless  heap.  The  Man  with  the  lamp  now  led  the 
still  half-conscious  Youth  to  the  Brazen  King,  at  whose 
feet  lay  a  sword.  The  Youth  girded  himself  with  it.  "  The 
sword  on  the  left,"  said  the  mighty  king,  "  the  right  hand 
free."  They  then  went  to  the  Silver  King,  who  gave  the 
Youth  his  sceptre,  saying,  "  Feed  the  sheep."  They  came 
to  the  Gold  King,  who,  with  a  look  that  conveyed  a  pater- 
nal blessing,  crowned  the  Youth's  head  with  a  garland  of 
oak  leaves,  and  said,  "  Acknowledge  the  Highest." 

The  Youth  now  awoke  to  full  consciousness ;  his  eyes 
shone  with  an  unutterable  spirit,  and  his  first  word  was, 
"  Lily ! "  He  clasped  the  fair  maiden,  whose  cheeks 
glowed  with  an  inextinguishable  red,  and,  turning  to  the 
Old  Man,  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  three  sacred  figures, 
'^  Glorious  and  safe  is  the  kingdom  of  our  fathers  ;  but 
you  forgot  the  fourth  power,  that  which  earliest,  most 
universal,  and  surest  of  all  rules  the  world,  —  the  power 
of  Love."  "  Love,"  said  the  Old  Man,  smiling,  "  does 
not  rule,  but  educates  ;  and  that  is  better." 

And  so  the  Temple  stands  by  the  River.  The  Old 
Woman,  having  at  the  bidding  of  her  husband  bathed  in 
its  waves,  comes  forth  rejuvenated  and  beautified.  The 
Old  Man  himself  looks  younger.  Husband  and  wife  (Sci- 
ence and  Religion)  renew  their  nuptial  vows,  and  pledge 
their  troth  for  indefinite  time. 


340  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  propliecy  is  accomplished.  What  Genius  pre- 
dicted ninety  years  ago  has  become  fact.  The  Temple 
stands  by  the  River,  the  bridge  is  firm  and  wide.  The 
Genius  of  Germany  is  no  longer  a  sighing,  sickly  youth, 
pining  after  the  unattainable,  but,  having  married  his 
ideal,  is  now  embodied  in  the  mighty  Chancellor  whose 
state-craft  founded  the  new  Empire,  and  whose  word  is 
a  power  among  the  nations. 


APPENDIX    TO    FAUST. 
I. 

LESSING'S  "FAUST." 

All  that  we  know  of  the  plan  of  Lessing's  "  Faust "  is  de- 
rived from  a  letter  written  after  his  death  by  Engel  to  Karl 
Lessing,  a  younger  brother  of  the  poet.  In  this  letter  he  com- 
municates a  sketch  which  Lessing  had  confided  to  him  of  the 
yet  unfinished  work. 

Satan  is  represented  holding  a  council  and  receiving  reports 
from  his  agents  of  their  doings  on  the  earth.  One  devil  boasts 
of  having  destroyed  by  fire  a  pious  poor  man's  hut,  and  left  him 
utterly  destitute  and  lost.  "  Yes,"  says  Satan,  "  lost  to  us  in- 
deed, and  forever.  To  make  a  pious  poor  man  still  poorer  is 
only  to  bind  him  more  closely  to  God."  The  second  boasts  of 
having  wrecked  a  ship  containing  a  company  of  usurers.  "  They 
all  perished,"  he  says,  "  and  they  are  now  yours."  '^  Traitor !  " 
replies  Satan,  "  they  were  mine  already ;  had  you  suffered  them 
to  live,  they  would  have  spread  ruin  far  and  wide,  and  caused 
many  to  sin.  All  that  we  lost  by  your  folly.  Back  with  you 
to  hell !  you  are  destroying  my  kingdom."  Finally  there  comes 
a  devil  who  reports  that  he  has  accomplished  no  deed  as  yet, 


GOETHE,  341 

but  has  an  idea,  which  if  he  can  realize  it  will  put  all  that  the 
rest  have  done  to  shame  :  that  is,  to  rob  God  of  his  favorite,  — 
"  a  solitary  studious  youth  devoted  entirely  to  wisdom,  for  her 
sake  renouncing  every  passion,  and  therefore  dangerous  to  us 
if  ever  he  becomes  a  teacher  of  the  people ;  but  as  yet  I  have 
found  in  him  no  weakness  by  which  I  can  get  hold  of  him." 

*'  Fool!  "  says  Satan,  "has  he  not  a  thirst  for  knowledge?  " 

"  Above  all  mortals." 

*'  Then  leave  him  to  me;  that  is  sufficient  for  his  ruin." 

And  he  resolves  at  once  to  brin^  about  that  ruin.  But  the 
angel  of  Providence,  who  has  been  hovering  over  the  assembly, 
foretells  to  us  the  spectators  the  fruitlessness  of  Satan's  strategy 
in  the  solemn  but  gently  uttered  words  which  are  heard  from 
on  high,  "  Ye  shall  not  prevail !  "  The  youth  to  be  seduced  is 
Faust,  whom  the  angel  saves  by  burying  him  in  a  deep  sleep 
and  creating  in  his  place  a  phantom  Faust,  on  whom  the  devils 
try  their  arts,  and  who,  just  as  they  feel  secure  of  their  prey, 
vanishes,  and  leaves  them  gnashing  their  teeth  with  rage ;  while 
to  the  real,  sleeping  Faust  all  that  has  happened  to  the  phan- 
tom is  a  dream,  from  which  he  awakes,  thankful  for  the  warning 
vision,  and  more  than  ever  confirmed  in  his  virtues  and  wisdom. 

From  this  it  appears  that  Lessing,  no  more  than  Goethe, 
could  accept  the  idea  of  eternal  perdition  for  the  seeker  after 
knowledge  implied  in  the  popular  legend. 

Of  the  two  or  three  fragments  of  his  drama,  there  is  one  im- 
pressive scene  in  which  Faust  summons  devils  in  order  to  select 
a  servant  from  among  them.  He  questions  them  as  to  their 
swiftness.  One  professes  to  be  swift  as  the  arrows  of  pesti- 
lence ;  another  travels  on  the  wings  of  the  wind ;  another  is 
borne  on  the  beams  of  light.  These  are  rejected  as  measuring 
their  swiftness  by  material  standards  ;  they  are  Satan's  messen- 
gers in  the  world  of  bodies.  Turning  to  his  messengers  in  the 
world  of  spirits,  Faust  asks  of  one,  — 

How  swift  art  thou  ? 

Spirit.  Swift  as  the  thoughts  of  men. 


342  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Faust.  That  is  something!  Yet  the  thoughts  of  men  are  not 
always  swift ;  not  when  truth  and  virtue  challenge  their  service,  — 
then  they  are  very  slow.     (To  another.)  How  swift  are  you? 

Spirit.  Swift  as  the  vengeance  of  the  avenger. 

Faust.  Of  the  avenger  ?     Of  what  avenger? 

Spirit.  Of  the  Mighty,  the  Terrible,  who  has  reserved  vengeance 
for  himself  alone,  because  he  delights  in  it. 

Faust.  Devil,  you  blaspheme,  for  I  see  you  are  trembling.  Swift 
said  you  as  the  vengeance  of  —  I  had  almost  named  him.  No  1 
let  him  not  be  named  among  us.  Swift  call  you  his  vengeance? 
Yet  I  still  live,  I  still  sin. 

Spirit.  That  he  still  permits  you  to  sin  is  his  vengeance. 

Faust.  That  I  should  first  learn  this  from  a  devil !  No,  his  ven- 
geance is  not  swift.  Away  with  you!  {To  the  last  spirit.)  How 
swift  are  you? 

Spirit.  Neither  more  nor  less  swift  than  the  transition  from  good 
to  evil. 

Faust.  Ah,  you  are  the  devil  for  me!  Swift  as  the  transition 
from  good  to  evil!  Yes,  that  is  swift,  —  nothing  swifter  than  that. 
Get  you  gone,  ye  terrors  of  Orcus!  Away!  The  transition  from 
good  to  evil,  —  I  have  experienced  how  swift  that  is ;  I  have  ex- 
perienced it! 


n. 

TRANSLATION  OF  THE  EASTER  SONG. 

Chorus  of  Angels. 

Christ  has  arisen ! 
Joy !  ye  dispirited 
Mortals,  whom  merited, 
Trailing,  inherited 
Woes  did  imprison ! 

Chorus  of  Women. 

Costly  devices 
We  had  prepared. 
Shroud  and  sweet  spices, 
Linen  and  nard. 


GOETHE.  343 

Woe!  the  disaster! 
Whom  we  here  laid, 
Gone  is  the  Master, 
Empty  his  bed ! 

Chorus  of  Angels. 

Christ  hath  arisen 
Loving  and  glorious, 
Out  of  laborious 
Conflict  victorious. 
Hail  to  the  risen  ! 

Chorus  of  Disciples. 

Hath  the  inhumated, 
Upward  aspiring,  — 
Hath  he  consummated 
All  his  desiring? 
Is  he  in  growing  bliss 
Near  to  creative  joy  ? 
Wearily  we  in  this 
Earthly  house  sigh. 
Empty  and  hollow,  us 
Left  he  unblest  ? 
Master,  thy  followers 
Envy  thy  rest. 

Chorus  of  Angels. 

Christ  hath  arisen 
Out  of  corruption's  womb! 
Burst  every  prison  I 
Vanish  death's  gloom! 
Active  in  charity, 
Praise  him  in  verity  ! 
His  feast,  prepare  it  ye ! 
His  message  bear  it  ye ! 
His  joy  declare  it  ye ! 
Then  is  the  Master  near, 
Then  is  he  here. 


344  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


CHAPTER  XYL 

SCHILLER. 
I. 

TN  the  public  square  in  Weimar  there  is  a  group  of 
-■-  statuary  representing  Goethe  and  Schiller  on  one 
pedestal,  holding  one  wreath,  which  either  seems  willing 
to  concede  to  the  other,  and  neither  to  claim  for  him- 
self. To  which  of  the  two,  as  the  greater  poet,  that 
crown  more  fitly  belongs,  is  a  question  on  which  differ- 
ent opinions  were  entertained  by  their  own  contempo- 
raries. And  even  now,  though  settled  in  favor  of  Goethe 
by  the  critics  and  the  highest  culture,  if  submitted  to  a 
plebiscite,  to  be  decided  on  grounds  of  personal  prefer- 
ence and  enjoyment  of  their  works,  it  is  Schiller,  most 
likely,  that  would  carry  the  vote. 

Carlyle,  comparing  the  two,  pronounces  Goethe  the 
national  poet.  If  by  "  national "  is  meant  the  most  idio- 
matically German,  I  agree  with  him.  But  if  the  test  of 
nationality  is  national  acceptance,  the  poet's  popularity 
with  his  own  countrymen,  then  surely  it  is  Schiller 
rather  than  Goethe  to  whom  that  title  must  be  ascribed. 
The  former  is  emphatically  the  poet  of  the  people.  His 
is  the  larger  audience  and  the  fuller  response.  Goethe 
speaks  with  greater  authority  to  men  of  high  culture ; 
but  his  works  are  read  by  comparatively  few.  Except 
in  his  songs,  whose  popularity  is  unbounded,  it  cannot 


SCHILLER.  345 

be  said  of  him  that  the  common  people  hear  him  gladly. 
But  Schiller,  who  addresses  the  average  intellect,  is 
everywhere  at  home,  —  the  inmate  of  the  house,  the  idol 
of  the  heart.  The  centennial  anniversary  of  his  birth  in 
1859  was  celebrated  more  widely  than  that  of  his  rival 
ten  years  before,  —  more  widely  and  more  enthusiasti- 
cally than  that  of  any  other  poet  of  old  or  recent  time. 
If  popularity  were  the  measure  of  genius,  there  would  be 
no  question  as  to  Schiller's  superiority. 

This  popularity  is  partly  due  to  perfect  intelligibility, 
absence  of  everything  enigmatical,  of  everything  that 
puzzles  and  taxes  the  understanding  in  Schiller's  writ- 
ings, but  more  to  the  showy  enthusiasm  which  pervades 
them,  —  so  strongly  contrasting  the  subtle  irony  which 
envelops  those  of  Goethe,  and  which,  though  it  may 
cover  profounder  meanings,  can  never  command  the 
general  ear.  A  consequence  of  this  enthusiasm,  and  its 
natural  medium,  is  the  fiery  eloquence  which  character- 
izes Schiller's  style.  In  this  again  he  differs  widely 
from  his  calmer  friend.  Eloquence  is  always  popular ; 
and  Schiller  is,  I  think,  the  most  eloquent  of  poets. 
Byron  alone  of  modern  English  poets  approaches  him 
in  that  particular.  Eloquence  and  poetry  are  quite  dis- 
tinct ;  the  one  consists  in  forcible  statement,  the  other 
in  delicate  perception  and  subtle  suggestions ;  the  office 
of  the  former  is  to  stir  the  feelings,  that  of  the  latter 
to  entertain  the  imagination  ;  the  one  tends  to  excite- 
ment, the  other  to  contemplation.  Schiller,  in  his  ear- 
lier phase,  like  Byron,  is  the  poet  of  passion  rather  than 
of  thought ;  the  fire  of  his  verse  eclipses  the  truth  of 
his  vision,  as  a  conflagration  hides  the  stars.  But  he 
lived  to  outgrow  these  hectic  fervors.  The  fire  which 
burns  so  fiercely  in  his  "  Robbers,"  in  "  Kabale  und 


346  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Liebe,"  and  "Fiesco,"  cooled  down  in  the  philosopliic- 
artistic  atmosphere  of  Jena  and  Weimar.  The  young 
Titan  ceased  to  storm  the  social  Olympus ;  he  became 
an  Olympian  himself,  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  maj- 
esty, and  dispensing  his  "  Wallenstein,"  his  "  Song  of 
the  Bell,"  his  "  Wilhelm  Tell,"  from  the  serene  height 
of  dispassionate,  self-sufficing  art. 

Johann  Christoph  Friedrich  von  Schiller  was  born  at 
Marbach,  in  Wiirtemberg,  then  a  duchy,  on  the  10th  of 
November,  in  1759.  The  only  son  of  a  worthy  and  ener- 
getic officer  in  the  ducal  army,  he  was  destined  by  his 
father  for  the  office  of  preacher  in  the  Lutheran  Church. 
The  early  education  of  'the  boy  was  shaped  with  refer- 
ence to  that  destination.  But  Duke  Charles,  of  Wiir- 
temberg, had  recently  established  a  military  school  at 
Ludwigsburg,  and  in  1772  invited  the  officers  in  his 
army  to  send  their  sons  thither  for  education  at  the 
expense  of  the  Government.  Friedrich,  at  the  age  of 
fifteen,  became  a  beneficiary  of  that  institution  as  a  stu- 
dent of  medicine.  The  school  was  subsequently  trans- 
planted from  Ludwigsburg  to  Stuttgart. 

We  shall  expect  to  find  in  the  young  medical  student, 
between  the  ages  of  fifteen  and  twenty,  some  presage  of 
the  future  poet,  —  the  rival  of  Goethe,  the  idol  of  his 
nation.  Of  genuine  poetic  feeling,  or  poetic  vision,  we 
find  very  little,  but  great  intellectual  activity  and  de- 
cided indications  of  a  preference  for  literary  pursuits; 
accompanying  these,  a  blind  impulsiveness,  a  headlong 
zeal,  which  overpowered  not  only  correct  judgment  but 
true  perception  and  even  natural  feeling.  In  an  exer- 
cise of  self-examination  required  by  his  teacher,  he 
avows  a  devotion  to  the  Duke  exceeding  all  filial  obli- 


SCHILLER,  347 

gation.  In  an  anniversary  Address  to  the  Fraulein  von 
Hohenheim,  he  professes  to  see  in  the  Duke's  mistress 
the  ideal  of  feminine  virtue. 

Fierce  extravagance,  intellectual  violence,  was  the 
characteristic  vice  of  the  youth.  The  Duke's  birthday 
was  celebrated  by  a  dramatic  performance,  in  which 
the  students  were  the  actors.  The  play  selected  for  the 
purpose  was  Goethe's  "  Clavigo."  Schiller  took  the 
part  of  Clavigo.  His  rendering  of  it  is  reported  to  have 
been  an  absurd  exhibition,  a  frightful  screaming  and 
roaring,  furious  gesticulation,  provoking  laughter.  His 
biographer,  Goedeke,  says :  — 

"  The  false  high-flying  pathos  which  he  found  in  his  favorite 
authors,  or  which  he  put  into  them,  ruled  him  humanly  and 
poetically.  Travesty  of  human  nature  he  mistook  for  power, 
forced  humor  for  feeling,  bombastic  phrases  for  inspiration. 
The  tight-laced  discipline,  the  galling  drill,  which  was  to  have 
restrained  his  youthful  spirit,  served  only  to  hasten  its  convul- 
sive explosions.  Shakspeare  seemed  to  him  cold,  and  was  not 
to  his  liking." 

On  the  other  hand,  the  wild,  declamatory,  aggressive 
writings  of  that  period  —  the  Storm-and-stress  period  of 
German  literature — took  complete  possession  of  Schiller's 
soul ;  and  while  a  student  at  Stuttgart  he  planned,  and 
in  great  part  composed,  his  ''  Robbers,"  in  which  all  the 
extravagances  of  that  period  found  their  highest  expres- 
sion, and  the  period  itself  its  final  consummation. 

In  1778  he  took  the  first  prize  in  anatomy.  In  the 
year  following  he  received  tliree  prizes, — one  in  Materia- 
medica,  and  two  in  Therapeutics.  The  distribution  of 
prizes  to  meritorious  students  was  a  festive  occasion, 
over  which  the  Duke  himself  presided.     That  of  1779 


848  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

was  signalized  by  the  presence  of  the  Grand-Duke  of 
Weimar  and  Goethe,  then  visitors  at  Stuttgart.  One 
can  imagine  the  flutter  created  in  the  breasts  of  the 
candidates  by  these  distinguished  guests,  especially  the 
latter,  already  famous,  and  in  the  full  bloom  of  his  fault- 
less beauty.  Goethe  has  not  recorded  the  occasion ;  nor 
does  it  appear  that  in  after  years  he  recognized  in  his 
friend  and  rival  the  medical  student  of  the  Carlschule. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  Schiller,  as 
he  went  up  in  his  stiff  uniform,  with  his  sword  on  his 
thigh,  his  three-cornered  hat  in  his  hand,  a  hundred 
literary  projects  and  his  half-finished  "  Robbers  "  in  his 
brain,  to  receive  his  award  at  the  hands  of  his  patron, 
may  have  dreamed  of  one  day  occupying  a  place  on 
the  German  Parnassus  by  the  side  of  the  illustrious 
stranger. 

It  was  not  until  the  close  of  the  year  1780  that  Schil- 
ler was  judged  to  have  completed  his  academic  course. 
He  left  the  Carlschule,  and  obtained  the  post  of  physi- 
cian to  a  regiment  of  grenadiers  then  stationed  at  Stutt- 
gart, with  a  monthly  salary  of  eighteen  florins,  — 
somewhat  less  than  four  dollars  per  week.  The  posi- 
tion allowed  him  ample  time  for  literary  labors,  which 
unhappily  were  not  always  guided  by  good  taste  nor 
directed  to  worthy  aims.  He  edited  the  "  Anthology," 
a  miscellaneous  collection  of  poems,  in  which  Schiller's 
own  productions  are  no  longer  distinguishable  from 
those  of  other  contributors,  but  for  whose  licentious 
tone  —  an  offence  alike  to  good  morals  and  aesthetic 
propriety  —  the  editor  must  be  held  responsible. 

I  cannot  suppose  that  Schiller's  heart  was  in  this 
work,  —  that  the  real  nature  of  the  man  expressed  it- 
self in  these  erotic  and  erratic  effusions.     They  repre- 


SCHILLER.  349 

sent  the  crudeness  of  his  youth,  his  six  years'  seclusion 
from  all  refining  social  influence,  the  contamination  of 
loose  associates  and  evil  example.  But  all  Schiller  was 
in  "The  Robbers,"  which  was  now  completed,  and  in 
1781  brought  out  for  the  first  time  in  the  theatre  at 
Mannheim,  with  immense  success.  No  work  since 
"  Werther  "  had  so  electrified  the  world.  More  even 
than  "  Werther  "  it  won  the  popular  ear,  the  stage  com- 
bining with  the  press  to  promote  its  circulation.  The 
sorrows  of  Werther  were  forgotten  in  the  agonies  of 
Moor  ;  Gotz,  with  the  iron  fist,  sunk  into  insignifi- 
cance before  this  great  child  of  the  imagination. 

On  the  other  hand,  grave  conservatives  were  shocked 
by  its  audacity,  and  took  alarm  at  the  drift  of  its  senti- 
ment. Said  one  of  this  class  to  Goethe :  "  Had  I  been  God, 
and  about  to  make  the  world,  and  could  I  have  foreseen 
that  '  The  Robbers '  would  be  written  in  it,  I  would 
have  desisted,  and  forborne  to  create  such  a  world." 

Carlyle  says  that  the  publication  of  "  The  Robbers  " 
forms  an  era  in  the  world's  literature.  It  was  in  sub- 
stance a  protest  against  old,  effete,  but  still  oppressive 
traditions,  against  feudal  anachronisms,  against  the  un- 
righteous tyranny  of  custom.  This  protest  was  in  the 
air ;  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  time.  Aggravated  in  Schil- 
ler's case,  no  doubt,  by  bitter  experience  of  personal 
restraint,  and  a  certain  "  savageness  of  unreclaimed 
blood,"  it  found  vent  in  a  roar  which  startled  the  eagles 
of  dominion  asleep  on  their  sceptres, — a  prophecy  of  the 
storm  which  soon  after  burst  upon  Europe  and  shook 
the  solid  world. 

I  fancy  "  The  Robbers  "  is  not  much  read  nowadays, 
except  by  very  young  people.  To  mature  minds  and 
educated  taste,  its  wild  rant  and  monstrous  exaggera- 


850  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

tions  are  intolerable.  No  one  repudiated  that  style  of 
composition  more  heartily  than  Schiller  himself  in  after 
years,  when  the  influence  of  Goethe,  the  study  of  the 
best  models,  and  the  experience  of  life  had  pruned  the 
excrescences  and  tempered  the  flashy  fervor  of  his  Muse. 
And  yet  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  "  The  Robbers,"  with 
all  its  absurdities  and  imperfections,  as  it  was  the  ear- 
liest, so  it  is  in  some  respects  the  greatest,  of  Schiller's 
plays  ;  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  promise  implied  in 
this  firstling  of  his  genius  was  never  quite  realized.  I 
find  in  none  of  his  subsequent  works  the  same  force,  ori- 
ginality, and  wealth  of  imagination.  If  the  poet's  art 
in  his  later  performances  had  learned  not  to  "  overstep 
the  modesty  of  nature,"  it  unlearned  also  the  force  and 
freedom  of  nature  whose  modesty  had  been  overstepped. 
"Mary  Stuart,"  "  Wallenstein,"  and  "William  Tell" 
exhibit  greater  reach  of  thought,  clearer  judgment, 
higher  finish,  maturer  views  of  nature  and  life,  truer 
perception  of  the  rules  and  limits  and  legitimate  objects 
of  dramatic  art;  but  the  stamp  of  genius  is  less  con- 
spicuous in  these  compositions.  Of  the  works  of  the 
author's  maturer  years,  "  The  Maid  of  Orleans  "  alone 
displays,  without  its  excesses,  something  of  the  glow 
and  intensity  of  "The  Robbers." 

The  fable  of  "The  Robbers"  is  simple,  and,  barring  its 
extravagance,  well  contrived.  The  old  Count  von  Moor 
has  two  sons.  The  elder,  Carl,  is  sent  to  the  University, 
where  he  leads  a  wild  life,  of  which  he  tires,  and  for  which 
in  a  letter  he  begs  his  father's  pardon  and  the  payment  of 
his  debts.  The  younger  son,  Franz,  who  remains  at  home, 
and  in  whom  the  author  figures  a  consummate  villain, 
intercepts  the  letter,  and  pretending  private  information, 


SCHILLER.  351 

received  from  a  correspondent  at  Leipsic,  represents  liis 
brother  an  abandoned  profligate.  Then,  in  order  to  sep- 
arate forever  father  and  son,  and  thus  to  possess  himself 
of  his  brother's  share  of  the  inheritance,  Franz  forges  a 
letter,  in  which  the  old  man  disinherits  Carl  and  forbids 
his  return.  Carl,  in  his  despair,  heads  a  band  of  rob- 
bers, whose  exploits  constitute  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  piece.  Meanwhile  Franz,  impatient  to  get  possession 
of  the  estate,  gives  out  that  his  father  is  dead.  A  mock 
funeral  is  held,  while  the  old  man  is  thrown  into  a  dun- 
geon, where  it  is  intended  that  he  shall  die  of  hunger. 

Weary  of  his  brigandage,  desirous  of  revisiting  the 
scenes  of  his  childhood,  and  of  seeing,  as  a  stranger,  the 
maiden  to  whom  he  was  betrothed  before  entering  the 
University,  Carl  Moor  introduces  himself  into  the  pater- 
nal castle  in  disguise ;  an  accident  discovers  to  him  the 
imprisonment  of  his  father  yet  alive,  whom  he  liberates, 
but  who  dies  of  the  shock  occasioned  by  learning  that  his 
favorite  son  is  a  robber.  Franz,  finding  himself  detected, 
puts  an  end  to  his  life  to  escape  the  vengeance  with  which 
he  is  threatened,  and  the  play  concludes  with  Carl's  dec- 
laration of  his  intention  to  deliver  himself  up  to  justice. 
A  price  has  been  set  upon  his  head,  and  a  poor  laborer, 
to  whom  he  will  reveal  himself,  shall  earn  the  reward. 

This  ground-plot  furnishes  occasion  for  deeply  moving 
and  pathetic  scenes,  and  in  such  the  play  abounds.  The 
interest  turns  mainly  on  the  character  of  Carl  Moor, 
which  the  poet  represents  as  noble,  and  even  sublime. 
Though  driven  by  desperation  to  embrace  the  life  of  an 
outlaw,  he  is  figured  as  better  than  his  pursuits,  elevated 
above  his  associates,  morally  as  well  as  intellectually. 
He  can  never  forget  what  he  might  have  been,  nor  for- 
give himself  for  what  he  is.     In  a  celebrated  scene  of 


352  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

the  fourth  act,  the  sense  of  his  lost  estate  overwhelms 
him  with  an  agony  of  remorse.  Gazing  on  the  setting 
sun,  he  exclaims  :  — 

"  So  dies  a  hero  !  When  a  boy  it  was  my  favorite  thought  to 
live  like  that,  to  die  like  that.     It  was  a  boyish  thought.  .  .  . 

"  Oh  that  I  could  return  into  my  mother's  womb  !  Oh  that 
I  could  be  born  a  beggar  !  I  would  ask  no  more  than  to  be  like 
one  of  those  day  laborers  yonder.  I  would  weary  myself  until 
the  blood  rolled  from  my  temples,  to  purchase  the  luxury  of  one 
noonday  nap,  the  blessedness  of  a  single  tear  !  " 

In  the  fifth  act  self-despair  drives  him  to  the  brink 
of  suicide,  and  we  have  this  soliloquy,  uttered  with  pistol 
in  hand :  — 

"  Time  and  eternity  linked  together  by  a  single  moment ! 
Awful  key  that  locks  the  prison  of  life  behind  me,  and  unbars 
to  me  the  dwelling  of  eternal  night !  Tell  me,  whither,  oh 
whither,  wilt  thou  lead  me  ?  Unknown,  never  circumnavigated 
land  !  See,  humanity  collapses  in  the  presence  of  this  idea ! 
The  strain  of  the  finite  mind  gives  way,  and  imagination,  the 
wanton  ape  of  the  senses,  mocks  our  credulity  with  strange 
shadows.  Be  what  thou  wilt,  thou  nameless  yonder,  if  only 
this  my  Self  remain  true.  Be  what  thou  wilt,  so  I  can  but 
take  my  Self  across  with  me.  The  things  without  us  are  but 
the  varnish  of  the  man ;  I  am  my  heaven  and  my  hell.  What 
if  thou  shouldst  assign  to  me  alone  some  burnt-out  world,  which 
thou  hast  banished  from  thy  sight,  where  solitary  night  and  the 
eternal  waste  were  my  only  prospect  ?  I  shall  then  people  the 
dumb  desert  with  my  fancies,  and  shall  have  an  eternity  of 
leisure  in  which  to  dissect  the  confused  image  of  the  universal 
woe  !  Or  wilt  thou  lead  me  through  ever  new  births  and  ever 
new  scenes  of  misery  to  annihilation  ?  Can  I  not  rend  asunder 
the  life-thread  which  shall  be  woven  for  me  hereafter  as  easily 
as  I  do  this  ?  Thou  canst  turn  me  into  nothing,  but  that  privi- 
lege thou  canst  not  take  from  me." 


SCHILLER,  353 

Of  the  scene  in  which  Moor  discovers  his  father  in  the 
dungeon  in  which  he  had  been  immured  and  left  to 
starve  by  the  younger  son,  Coleridge  expressed  his  ad- 
miration in  a  sonnet  addressed  "  To  the  Author  of  '  The 
Robbers '"  :  — 

"  Schiller!  that  hour  I  would  have  wished  to  die, 
If  through  the  shuddering  midnight  I  had  sent, 
From  the  dark  dungeon  of  the  tower  time-rent, 
That  fearful  voice,  a  famished  father's  cry. 
Lest  in  some  after  moment  aught  more  mean 
Might  stamp  me  mortal." 

My  last  quotation  from  "  The  Robbers  "  shall  be  the 
closing  portion  of  the  dream  which  the  villain  Franz,  on 
the  eve  of  his  doom,  relates  to  his  aged  confidential  ser- 
vant.    It  is  a  dream  of  the  Last  Judgment :  — 

"  We  all  stood  pale  as  snow,  and  anxious  expectation  throbbed 
in  every  breast.  Then  I  thought  1  heard  my  name  called  first 
from  amid  the  thunders  of  the  Mount ;  and  my  innermost  mar- 
row froze  within  me,  and  my  teeth  chattered  aloud.  And  im- 
mediately the  scales  began  to  sound,  and  the  rock  thundered, 
and  the  hours  went  by.  One  by  one  they  passed  by  the  scale 
on  the  left  hand,  and  each  one  as  it  passed  threw  in  a  damning 
sin.  The  scale  on  the  left  hand  grew  to  a  mountain,  but  the 
other,  filled  with  the  blood  of  the  Atonement,  held  it  still 
poised  in  air.  At  last  there  came  an  old  man  bowed  down 
with  sorrow,  his  arm  gnawed  as  he  had  gnawed  it  in  his  raging 
hunger.  All  eyes  turned  toward  him  :  I  knew  him  well.  And 
he  severed  a  lock  from  his  silver  hair  and  threw  it  into  the 
scale  of  transgressions  ;  and  behold,  it  sank  instantly  to  the 
bottom,  and  the  scale  of  Redemption  rose  to  the  sky !  Then  I 
heard  a  voice  from  out  the  smoke :  '  Mercy,  mercy  to  every 
sinner  on  earth  and  in  hell.     Thou  only  art  rejected ' !  " 

Could  Schiller  have  obtained  a  copyright  for  "  The 
Robbers  "  on  its  first  publication,  his  fortune  would  have 

23 


354  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

been  secured  by  a  work  of  such  wide  demand.  But  the 
profits,  as  usual,  fell  to  the  publishers,  while  the  author 
derived  from  this  his  first  literary  venture,  along  with 
great  public  applause,  much  private  annoyance.  A  dis- 
paraging allusion  to  the  Swiss  Canton  of  the  Grisons 
provoked  from  that  quarter  a  complaint  addressed  to  the 
Duke,  who  in  his  wisdom  straightway  laid  an  injunction 
on  the  poet  to  write  no  more  plays,  —  noch  sonst  so  was, 
"  nor  anything  of  the  sort,"  as  the  edict  elegantly  phrased 
it.  The  clause  was  understood  to  embrace  all  possible 
creations  of  a  poet's  genius.  Duke  Charles  was  one  of 
those  who  believe  that  the  world  would  be  quite  as  good 
a  world  without  poetry  as  with  it ;  he  judged  that  his 
little  Wiirtemberg  would  be  a  great  deal  better.  Had 
he  known  what  was  in  this  young  army-surgeon  of  his 
(and  he  might  have  known  it,  had  he  taken  the  trouble 
to  read  the  play)  ;  could  he  have  foreseen  how  contemp- 
tible his  own  name  would  one  day  appear  beside  that  of 
the  poet,  —  all  the  more  contemptible  because  of  this 
act,  —  he  might  have  paused  before  hurling  the  boome- 
rang whose  worst  effect  recoiled  upon  himself  in  the  loss 
of  his  greatest  subject,  the  greatest  son  of  that  Suabian 
soil  since  Eberhard  the  Greiner.  To  impose  silence  on 
a  poet  with  such  a  mission  was  like  charging  the  sun  to 
withdraw  his  beams,  or  the  clouds  to  withhold  their  rain. 
Yet  Scliiller,  whose  poetic  consciousness  was  still  imper- 
fectly developed,  might  have  hesitated  longer  between 
obedience  to  his  genius  and  obedience  to  his  Prince,  had 
not  the  mandate  been  accompanied  by  an  arrest  and  tem- 
porary imprisonment  for  going  to  Mannheim  without  leave 
of  absence  to  witness  the  performance  of  his  play.  This 
personal  indignity  precipitated  a  step  which  would  no 
doubt  have  been  ultimately  taken  without  such  incentive. 


SCHILLER.  355 

With  the  aid  of  a  friend  he  made  his  escape  from  Stutt- 
gart and  took  refuge  in  Mannheim,  a  city  beyond  the 
jurisdiction  of  his  oppressor. 

But  Mannheim,  though  it  offered  Schiller  an  asylum, 
refused  him  bread.  He  had  thrown  himself  upon  the 
world  with  no  resource  but  his  pen,  —  a  very  ineffectual 
one  in  those  days  when  employed  in  literary  labor.  One 
use  which  he  made  of  it  was  not  literary  but  practical. 
There  has  been  found  among  his  manuscripts  a  letter  to 
the  Duke,  dated  from  Mannheim,  begging  pardon  for 
quitting  his  dominions,  and  praying  that  the  literary  in- 
junction might  be  removed.  There  is  no  evidence  that 
the  letter  was  sent ;  and  one  would  hope  that  the  self- 
respect  of  the  poet  prevailed  over  hunger,  or  the  fear  of 
hunger,  and  withheld  the  degrading  petition. 

His  second  dramatic  attempt,  his  "  Piesco,"  proved  a 
fiasco  so  far  as  the  theatre  of  Mannheim  was  concerned. 
Dolberg,  theatrical  manager,  declined  it  as  being  unfit 
for  the  stage.  In  Berlin  it  met  with  better  success,  but 
brought  no  gain  to  the  author,  who  in  his  extremity  had 
been  fain  to  sell  it  to  a  publisher  for  eleven  louis  d'or 
(about  fifty  dollars). 

We  next  find  Schiller,  under  the  name  of  Ritter,  a  refu- 
gee at  Bauerbach,  an  estate  of  his  patroness  the  Frau  von 
Wolzogen,  mother  of  one  of  his  fellow-students  at  the 
Carlschule.  Here  he  composed  his  third  drama,  "  Luise 
Millerin,"  afterward  entitled  "Kabaleund  Liebe,"  whose 
appearance  created  a  sensation  second  only  to  that  which 
greeted  "The  Robbers."  It  presented  a  domestic  tragedy 
such  as  the  state  of  society  at  that  time  may  have  made  a 
thing  of  frequent  occurrence.  Its  characters  and  situa- 
tions are  nearer  to  Nature  and  fact  than  those  of  "  The 
Robbers,"  and  if  less  romantic,  better  suited  to  the  stage. 


356  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  substantial  truth  of  its  portraiture  was  attested  by 
the  hearty  and  wide  response  of  the  public.  It  is  said 
that  when  the  piece  was  produced  for  the  first  time  at 
Mannheim,  in  1784,  at  the  close  of  the  second  act  the 
whole  body  of  spectators,  with  one  accord,  started  from 
their  seats,  and  signified  their  delight  with  a  round  of 
tumultuous  applause.  The  poet,  who  happened  to  be 
present  in  a  private  box,  arose  and  acknowledged  the 
compliment  in  a  few  appropriate  words.  This  was  the 
last  triumph  which  Schiller  won  from  theatre-goers  in 
the  way  of  uproarious  popular  demonstration.  His  sub- 
sequent productions,  although  of  a  far  higher  order,  and 
because  they  were  of  a  higher  order,  were  less  adapted 
to  elicit  such  effects. 

These,  first  three  plays  — "The  Robbers,"  "  Fiesco," 
and  "  Kabale  und  Liebe  "  —  constitute  a  distinct  and 
completed  phase  in  the  literary  history  of  the  author. 
These  were  prose  compositions  ;  those  which  followed 
were  written  in  verse,  and  even  on  that  account  per- 
haps less  conducive  to  vulgar  excitement,  because  more 
restrained. 

"  Don  Carlos,"  his  next  performance,  marks  the  tran- 
sition from  the  poet's  first  stage,  the  period  of  youthful 
extravagance,  —  the  Storm-and-stress  period,  —  to  the 
calmer,  purer  style  of  his  riper  years.  It  is  still  marked, 
and  to  some  extent  marred,  by  the  vice  of  its  predeces- 
sors,—  excessive  idealism.  The  coloring  is  overdone, 
the  sentiment  exaggerated,  the  characters  extreme, — 
that  of  Posa,  especially,  a  wild  conceit.  He  is  the  real 
hero  of  the  piece,  —  a  more  significant  figure  than  the 
Prince,  whom  he  quite  overshadows ;  but  his  heroism  is 
too  ideal,  his  magnanimity  too  ethereal,  for  the  place  he 
occupies  in  the  Spanish  Court.     But  with  all  its  faults, 


SCHILLEit.  357 

"  Don  Carlos  "  is  still  a  noble  work,  —  one  of  the  choice 
gems  of  dramatic  literatm^e.  It  was  not  so  effective  on 
the  stage  as  "  Kabale  und  Liebe,"  but  it  found  as  cordial 
a  welcome  with  the  reading  public,  and  obtained  the 
votes  of  a  more  discerning  tribunal  than  the  Mannheim 
play-house.  Among  its  best  scenes,  most  expressive  of 
the  spirit  and  manners  of  the  age  of  Philip  II.,  is  the 
colloquy  between  the  King  and  the  Chief  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion. The  inexorable  pride  of  Castilian  majesty  on  the 
one  hand,  and  the  awful  power  and  omnipresent  juris- 
diction of  the  Romish  Church  on  the  other  are  typified 
in  the  two  men.  The  Inquisitor,  an  old  man  of  ninety 
years  and  blind,  enters  leaning  on  his  staff,  conducted 
by  two  Dominicans.  As  he  passes  through  the  ranks 
of  the  grandees,  they  all  prostrate  themselves  on  the 
ground,  and  kiss  the  hem  of  his  garment  while  he  im- 
parts his  benediction. 

Inq.  Do  I  stand  before  the  King  ? 

King.  Yes. 

Inq.  I  no  longer  expected  such  an  interview  ! 

King.  I  renew  a  scene  of  former  years.  Philip  the  Infante 
asks  advice  of  his  teacher. 

Inq.  My  pupil  Charles,  your  great  father,  needed  no  counsel. 

King.  So  much  the  happier  he.  I  have  committed  murder, 
Cardinal,  and  have  no  rest. 

Inq.  Whom  have  you  murdered  ? 

King.  An  act  of  deception  unexampled  — 

Inq.  I  know  it. 

King.  What  do  you  know  ?  —  through  whom,  since  when  ? 

Inq.  For  years,  what  you  know  only  since  sunset. 

King  (surprised).  You  have  known  of  this  man  already  ? 
{Referring  to  Posa.) 

Inq.  His  life  from  beginning  to  end  is  recorded  in  the  sacred 
registers  of  Santa  Casa. 


358  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

King.  And  yet  he  went  about  unhindered  ? 

Inq.  His  tether  was  long,  but  not  to  be  broken. 

King.  He  was  already  beyond  the  limits  of  my  domain. 

Inq.  Wherever  he  might  be,  there  was  I  also. 

King.  It  was  known  in  whose  hands  I  was,  —  why  was  I  not 
cautioned  ? 

Inq.  I  give  back  the  question.  Why  did  you  not  inquire 
when  you  threw  yourself  into  the  arms  of  this  man  ?  You 
knew  him ;  a  glance  unmasked  to  you  the  heretic.  What  in- 
duced you  to  withhold  the  victim  from  the  Holy  Office  ?  Is  it 
thus  that  we  are  trifled  with  ?  .  .  . 

King.  He  has  been  sacrificed. 

Inq.  No ;  he  has  been  murdered  ignominiously,  sinfully. 
The  blood  that  should  have  been  gloriously  shed  for  our  honor 
has  been  spilt  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin.  The  man  was  ours. 
What  authorized  you  to  meddle  with  the  sacred  property  of  the 
Order  ?  God  gave  him  to  the  needs  of  this  time,  in  order  to 
make  an  example  of  boastful  reason.  That  was  my  deliberate 
plan.  Now  it  is  frustrated,  —  the  work  of  many  years.  We 
are  robbed,  and  you  have  only  bloody  hands.  .  .  .  What  could 
this  man  be  to  you  ?  What  new  thing  had  he  to  show  to  you 
for  which  you  were  not  prepared  ?  Are  you  so  little  acquainted 
with  enthusiasm  and  love  of  innovation?  The  boastful  lan- 
guage of  the  would-be  world-reformers,  did  it  sound  so  un- 
wonted in  your  ears  ?  If  the  fabric  of  your  convictions  can 
be  overthrown  by  words,  with  what  face,  I  must  ask,  could  you 
sign  the  death-warrant  of  the  hundred  thousand  weak  souls  who 
for  nothing  worse  have  suffered  at  the  stake  ? 

King.  I  craved  a  man.     These  Domingos  — 

Inq.  Wherefore  men  ?  Men  are  for  you  but  ciphers ;  noth- 
ing more.  Must  I  repeat  with  my  gray  pupil  the  very  ele- 
ments of  monarchical  art  ?  The  god  of  this  earth  must  learn 
to  dispense  with  that  which  may  be  denied  him.  If  you  whine 
for  sympathy,  do  you  not  confess  yourself  on  a  level  with  the 
world  ?  .  .  .  You  have  had  your  lesson.  Now  return  to  us 
again.  If  I  did  not  stand  now  before  you,  by  the  living  God 
you  would  have  stood  thus  to-morrow  before  me ! 


SCHILLER.  359 

King,  Forbear  such  language!  Restrain  yourself,  Priest! 
I  will  not  bear  it ;  I  cannot  allow  myself  to  be  spoken  to  in 
this  tone ! 

Inq.  Why  then  did  you  summon  the  shade  of  Samuel  ?  I 
gave  two  kings  to  the  throne  of  Spain,  and  I  hoped  to  leave 
behind  me  a  well-grounded  work.  I  have  lost  the  fruit  of  my 
life.  Don  Philip  himself  causes  my  fabric  to  shake.  And 
now,  Sire,  why  am  I  summoned  ?  What  is  wanted  of  me  here  ? 
I  am  not  disposed  to  repeat  this  visit. 

King.  One  service  more,  —  the  last ;  then  may  you  depart  in 
peace.  .  .  .  My  son  meditates  rebellion. 

Inq.  What  do  you  intend  ? 

King.  Nothing  —  or  all. 

Inq.  What  is  meant  here  by  all  ? 

King.  He  shall  escape,  if  I  may  not  cause  him  to  be  put  to 
death.  .  .  .  Can  you  establish  for  me  a  new  creed  which  shall 
justify  the  bloody  murder  of  a  child  ? 

Inq.  To  satisfy  eternal  Justice,  the  Son  of  God  died  on  the  tree. 

King.  Will  you  propagate  this  doctrine  through  all  Europe  ? 

Inq.  Wherever  the  cross  is  revered. 

King.  I  shall  sin  against  Nature  ;  can  you  silence  her  mighty 
voice  ? 

Inq.  Nature  has  no  voice  at  the  tribunal  of  faith. 

King.  I  resign  my  office  of  Judge  into  your  hands.  May  I 
entirely  withdraw? 

Inq.  Give  him  to  me. 

King.  He  is  my  only  son,  • —  for  whom  have  I  gathered  ? 

Inq.  Better  have  gathered  for  corruption  than  for  liberty. 

For  the  student  of  Spanish  history,  the  unhistorie 
character  of  Don  Carlos  may  somewhat  impair  the 
value  of  the  play.  Certainly,  there  is  not  much  resem- 
blance between  Schiller's  hero  and  the  unfortunate  son 
of  Philip  II.  But  in  a  work  of  art  poetic  truth  is  the 
first  essential ;  if  an  author  is  faithful  in  that,  we  can 
allow  him  a  good  deal  of  latitude  in  the  other  kind. 


360  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

In  December,  1784,  before  it  was  put  upon  the  stage, 
the  first  act  of  "  Don  Carlos "  was  read  by  Schiller 
at  the  Court  of  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse-Darmstadt, 
where  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Weimar,  Karl  August,  the 
poet's  future  patron,  happened  then  to  be  sojourning  as 
guest.  The  Duke  was  much  pleased,  and  desired  to 
manifest  his  good-will  toward  the  author.  The  way  in 
which  he  did  so  was  characteristic  of  the  time  and  the 
nation.  Karl  August's  pecuniary  resources  were  small ; 
the  expenses  of  the  little  duchy  were  scarce  covered  by 
its  income ;  there  was  no  vacant  office  to  bestow ;  he 
could  offer  no  donation.  He  did  what  he  could :  he 
conferred  on  Schiller  the  title  of  Hath  ("  counsellor  "). 
The  title  was  an  empty  sound ;  it  referred  to  no  council- 
board  ;  it  involved  no  function ;  no  counsel  was  asked  of, 
or  given  by,  the  recipient.  Still  it  was  a  title ;  and  a 
title  in  Germany  is  an  acquisition  of  immense  impor- 
tance, its  recognition  rigidly  exacted  by  social  etiquette, 
never  to  be  forgotten  in  addressing  the  bearer,  or,  with 
a  feminine  termination,  the  bearer's  wife.  You  must 
say  Frau  Pastor  in  to  the  parson's  wife  as  punctually  as 
Herr  Pastor  to  the  parson.  Be  the  title  never  so  humble, 
it  must  be  duly  rendered,  —  in  default  of  any  other,  a 
title  coined  from  the  occupation,  if  not  a  mechanical 
one  :  Mr.  Fish-inspector,  Mrs.  Fish-inspector  ;  or,  if  that 
functionary  employs  a  substitute,  Mr.  Fish-inspector's 
substitute,  Mrs.  Fish-inspector's  substitute. 

Schiller  was  now  no  longer  plain  Herr  Schiller,  but 
Herr  Rath,  —  an  entirely  different  being  in  the  vulgar 
estimation.  When  he  married,  the  title  was  changed  for 
the  higher  one  of  "  Hofrath,  aulic  Counsellor,"  —  equally 
without  office.  Unfortunately,  increase  of  honor  was  not 
attended  by  increase  oi  means.     Herr  Rath  continued 


SCHILLER,  361 

miserably  poor.  Theatrical  managers  and  publishers 
grew  rich  on  the  fruits  of  his  genius,  while  the  favorite 
poet  of  the  people  starved,  and  began  to  think  seriously 
of  resuming  his  medical  profession  as  a  means  of  sup- 
port. The  extent  of  his  popularity,  and  what  is  better 
of  his  influence  on  earnest  minds,  was  unknown  to  him. 
The  newspaper  press  was  not  at  that  time  the  power 
nor  the  medium  of  intelligence  which  it  now  is.  The 
first  assurance  of  the  reality  and  scope  of  his  poetic 
vocation  seems  to  have  come  to  him  with  a  missive  from 
Dresden,  containing  tokens  of  little  material,  but  to 
him  of  immense  moral,  value  from  four  anonymous  con- 
tributors, accompanied  by  a  letter  expressive  of  cordial 
and  even  enthusiastic  regard.  One  of  these  contribu- 
tors, and  the  writer  of  the  letter,  was  Christian  Gottlieb 
Korner,  father  of  Theodore  Korner,  the  poet,  —  the 
Tyrta3us  of  his  nation,  and  one  of  the  choice  lyrists  of 
modern  time.  Korner  the  elder,  who  held  at  this  time 
a  government  office  at  Dresden,  was  a  man  of  culture, 
addicted  to  letters  and  to  music ;  not  wealthy,  but  able 
from  the  income  of  his  office  to  render  pecuniary  assist- 
ance to  his  friends.  Schiller  soon  became  personally 
acquainted  with  him ;  they  corresponded,  and  their  pub- 
lished correspondence,  extending  through  a  series  of 
years,  is  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  our  knowledge  of 
the  poet's  history,  especially  of  his  interior  life.  The 
friendship  of  this  large-hearted  man  proved  to  be  of 
essential  service,  and  gave  a  new  turn  to  Schiller's  for- 
tunes. The  bounty  of  Korner  relieved  him  of  immediate 
pecuniary  embarrassment ;  and  in  course  of  time  another 
patron,  the  Duke  of  Weimar,  through  the  mediation  of 
Goethe,  found  a  place  for  him  as  Professor  of  History 
in  the  University  of  Jena. 


362  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

History  had  been  for  some  time  his  favorite  study  ;  in 
a  letter  to  Korner  he  had  expressed  the  wish  to  be  able 
for  ten  years  to  devote  himself  exclusively  to  that  pur- 
suit. In  1788  the  proposal  of  the  professorship  was 
made  to  him ;  in  March,  1789,  he  received  the  formal 
appointment,  and  on  the  26th  of  May  he  gave  his  intro- 
ductory lecture.  Goedeke  describes  the  scene ;  the  room 
selected  for  the  occasion  was  Reinhold's  auditorium, 
capable  of  seating  eighty  persons,  with  standing-room 
for  perhaps  twenty  more.  The  lecture  was  to  begin  at 
six  ;  at  half-past  five  the  room  was  completely  filled, — 
then  the  vestibule,  the  stairs,  the  entry  below,  and  new 
crowds  were  seen  from  the  window  flocking  to  the  place. 
Finally,  some  one  suggested  that  another  larger  lecture- 
room  might  be  found ;  and  word  was  given  that  Gries- 
bach's  auditorium,  the  largest  in  the  city,  could  be 
obtained.  Upon  this  the  whole  company,  those  already 
on  the  ground  and  those  who  were  pressing  for  admis- 
sion, started  for  Griesbach's.  They  ran  down  the  long 
Johannis  Street  at  full  speed,  each  eager  to  secure  a 
place.  The  occupants  of  the  houses  on  either  side,  not 
knowing  what  had  happened,  rushed  to  the  windows, 
wondering  what  might  be  the  cause  of  the  unusual  tu- 
mult ;  the  dogs  barked,  and  the  guard  at  the  Castle 
began  to  move.  It  was  thought  at  first  to  be  an  alarm 
of  fire  ;  but  on  inquiry,  the  answer  was,  "  The  new 
Professor  is  going  to  read."  The  larger  lecture-room, 
capable  of  accommodating  from  three  to  four  hundred 
hearers,  was  soon  filled  to  overflowing;  the  vestibule 
was  crowded,  even  the  stairs  were  occupied,  and  great 
numbers  went  away  unable  to  gain  admission  into  the 
house.  The  hearers  were  not  disappointed ;  the  im- 
pression made  by  the  academic  debutant  was  every  way 


SCHILLER.  363 

satisfactory,  nothing  else  was  talked  of  in  the  city,  and 
in  the  evening  Schiller  was  serenaded,  —  a  thing  unex- 
ampled in  the  case  of  a  new  professor. 

The  enthusiasm  continued  for  a  time, —  so  long  as  the 
lectures  were  of  a  general  introductory  character.  But 
when  it  came  to  the  stated  work  of  the  office,  to  historic 
details,  there  was  a  great  falling  off.  The  number  of 
paying  hearers  —  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  a  German 
professor's  support  —  was  extremely  small.  Schiller's 
salary,  independent  of  student's  fees,  was  but  two  hun- 
dred thalers.  In  the  first  year,  he  read  five  lectures  a 
week  to  his  class  beside  one  public  lecture.  Each  lecture 
was  a  new  composition  written  out ;  and  the  preparation 
of  them  —  added  to  the  delivery,  the  getting  up  of  the 
material,  the  studying  of  authorities — gave  him,  a  feeble- 
bodied  man,  more  than  enough  to  do.  The  strain  upon 
his  strength  was  too  great,  and  led  to  the  sickness  which 
not  only  shortened  his  days,  but  before  they  were  num- 
bered rendered  him  again  and  again,  for  months  at  a 
time,  incapable  of  labor,  and  obliged  him  in  less  than 
two  years  to  relinquish  the  duties  of  his  professorship. 
Meanwhile  he  had  married  Charlotte  von  Lengefeld,  to 
whom  he  had  been  for  some  time  betrothed,  after  hesi- 
tating awhile  between  her  and  her  sister  Caroline.  She 
proved  to  be  all  that  a  man  and  a  poet  can  desire  in  a 
help-mate ;  and  to  her  loving  care  it  was  probably  owing 
that  he  lived  to  complete  the  works  which  have  made 
him  immortal. 

In  1791,  the  darkest  of  Schiller's  brief  and  laborious 
years,  his  case  seemed  utterly  desperate.  A  severe  illness 
had  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  death,  and  when  partially 
restored  he  was  still  for  a  long  time  too  weak  for  remu- 
nerative labor.     The  Duke  either  could  not  or  would  not 


864  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

afford  the  necessary  means  of  support  until  he  should 
fully  recover  his  strength.  Beyond  his  small  pension 
of  two  hundred  thalers,  which  appears  to  have  been 
continued  to  him,  he  had  no  dependence  or  prospect. 
Goethe  seems  not  to  have  known  of  his  distress,  and 
was  not  yet  intimate  with  his  brother  poet. 

*'  But  Fate  will  not  permit 
The  seed  of  gods  to  die." 

It  could  not  be  that  the  world  should  miss  a  "  Wallen- 
stein  "  or  a  "  Song  of  the  Bell ;  "  and  in  this  sore  strait 
there  came  from  a  distant  quarter  unlooked-for  aid.  A 
hand  from  the  clouds  replenished  the  failing  lamp. 
Baggesen,  a  Danish  poet,  a  fervent  admirer  of  Schiller, 
on  a  visit  to  Jena  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  him,  had 
been  informed  by  Reinold  of  his  distressed  circum 
stances,  and  the  impossibility  of  his  accomplishing  any- 
thing more  in  the  way  of  poetic  creation  without  relief 
from  pecuniary  cares  (which  incapacitated  him  for  free 
intellectual  effort),  and  without  a  year's  rest. 

Fired  by  this  suggestion,  Baggesen,  on  his  return  to 
Denmark,  instituted  a  Schiller-festival,  for  the  purpose 
of  calling  the  attention  of  his  countrymen  to  the  merits 
and  claims  of  his  great  contemporary.  The  festival  was 
to  take  place  by  the  sea-side  in  the  open  air,  and  to  last 
three  days.  In  the  course  of  it  Baggesen  was  to  recite 
the  "  Ode  to  Joy,"  one  of  the  most  spirited  of  Schiller's 
poems,  —  in  fact,  a  wild  composition,  whose  intoxicating 
effect  scarce  needed  the  addition  of  the  wine  which  flowed 
without  stint,  to  excite  to  the  uttermost  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  hearers.  A  report  of  Schiller's  death,  which 
reached  Copenhagen  just  before  the  time  appointed  for 
these  festivities,  did  not  prevent  the  meeting  or  change 


SCHILLER.  365 

its  programme,  but  only  gave  it  a  more  exalted  char- 
acter, and  added  to  Baggesen's  recitation  a  stanza  of  his 
own,  invoking  the  spirit  of  the  departed  to  unite  with 
the  revellers. 

The  false  report  was  soon  contradicted  ;  and  on 
Baggesen's  representation  of  Schiller's  distress,  two 
noble-minded  men,  who  had  also  felt  the  fascination 
of  his  spirit,  —  Count  Schimmelmann,  prime-minister  of 
Denmark,  and  Christian  Friedrich,  Duke  of  Schleswig- 
Holstein-Augustenburg,  —  united  in  a  letter  to  the  suf- 
fering poet,  in  which,  after  words  of  cordial  respect  and 
expressions  of  gratitude  for  what  they  owed  to  him,  they 
cautiously,  and  with  a  tender  regard  for  his  self-respect, 
entreated  his  acceptance,  for  three  years,  of  an  annual 
pension  of  one  thousand  thalers,  to  enable  him  —  such 
was  their  apology  for  the  boldness  of  the  offer  —  to 
enable  him,  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  present  exer- 
tion, to  fully  recover  the  bodily  health  on  which  de- 
pended the  possibility  of  his  continuing  to  bless  the 
world  with  the  fruits  of  his  genius.  It  was  a  beautiful 
act,  one  of  the  choice  bits  of  literary  history ;  and,  con- 
sidering the  source  of  this  opportune  gift,  —  a  tribute 
rendered,  a  benefaction  conferred,  by  strangers,  by  men 
of  another  land  and  another  tongue,  on  one  whom  his 
own  countrymen  had  neglected  at  his  utmost  need,  — 
it  may  be  reckoned  among  the  curiosities  of  literature. 
Germany  owes  to  Denmark  the  opportunity,  the  possi- 
bility, of  some  of  her  choicest  literary  treasures  ;  and 
may  blush  to  remember  that  among  all  her  princes,  and 
her  thirty  millions  of  inhabitants,  not  one  was  found  to 
render  the  service  volunteered  by  two  individuals  of  her 
diminutive  neighbor-kingdom. 

An  annual  grant  of  a  thousand  thalers  does  not  sound 


366  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

very  large  in  American  ears ;  but  sums  of  money  must 
be  estimated  relatively  to  time  and  place.  For  a  Ger- 
man in  those  days,  for  a  man  like  Schiller,  it  was  an 
ample  pension,  —  more  than  sufficient  for  all  his  wants. 
He  could  not  hesitate  to  accept  the  generous  gift.  Not 
for  his  own  sake  simply.  Had  it  been  a  mere  question 
of  bodily  well-being,  or  of  added  years,  his  sensitive 
nature  might  have  shrunk  from  such  a  weight  of  per- 
sonal obligation.  It  mattered  little  to  him  how  long 
his  eyes  might  continue  to  behold  the  sun,  and  his  body 
to  partake  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth.  But  the  offer  had 
quite  another  aspect ;  he  viewed  it  grandly  in  the  light 
of  the  duty  he  owed  to  his  genius,  which  was  not  his 
own,  but  a  sacred  trust.  Conscious  of  great  designs, 
of  ability  to  gi^e  to  the  world  something  greater,  better, 
than  he  had  yet  produced,  he  did  not  feel  himself  at  lib- 
erty to  decline  the  only  means,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  of 
bringing  forth  what  he  felt  to  be  in  him,  —  of  fulfilling 
his  mission  to  the  world.  He  accepted  the  princely  gift 
freely  ;  he  accepted  it  grandly,  not  as  a  tribute  to  him- 
self, but  as  an  offering  to  the  Muses,  to  whose  service  he 
was  vowed. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Schiller's  resurrection 
from  what  seemed  to  be  helpless  and  hopeless  prostra- 
tion, to  such  health  and  activity  as  he  afterward  at- 
tained, was  mainly  due  to  the  princely  bounty  of  these 
foreign  friends.  Morally,  no  less  than  physically,  their 
loving  tribute  was  a  well  of  new  life  to  his  stricken, 
fainting  soul,  and  dates  the  beginning  of  the  richest  and 
most  brilliant  epoch  of  his  literary  history. 


SCHILLER.  367 


11. 

The  first  use  which  Schiller  made  of  the  leisure  se- 
cured to  him  by  the  Danish  pension,  after  some  journey- 
ing which  he  undertook  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  was 
to  devote  himself  to  the  study  of  Kant,  whose  philosophy 
was  then  a  recent  evangel,  and  possessed  for  the  North 
German  mind  an  authority  little  less  than  divine.  It  is 
characteristic  of  the  difference  between  the  two  men  that 
Schiller  the  idealist  should  take  to  metaphysics,  and 
Goethe  the  realist  to  natural  history.  Goethe  felt  no 
call  to  analyze  his  consciousness.  "  I  have  never  cared," 
he  said,  "  to  think  about  thinking."  And  to  Chancellor 
Miiller  he  declared,  "I  have  as  much  [metaphysical] 
philosophy  as  I  shall  need  until  my  blessed  end  ;  in  fact, 
I  could  do  without  any."  At  the  same  time  he  made  a 
remark  about  Cousin,  which  shows  that  he  knew  very 
well  what  belongs  to  the  essence  of  philosophy.  Cousin, 
he  said,  does  not  understand  that  though  a  man  may  be  an 
eclectic  philosopher,  there  can  be  no  eclectic  philosophy. 

It  is  not  surprising  that,  loving  and  admiring  Schiller 
as  he  did  when  once  they  were  fairly  brought  into  con- 
tact, Goethe  should  lament  what  he  regarded  as  misdirec- 
tion in  his  friend's  pursuit.     He  said  :  — 

"  I  cannot  but  think  that  Schiller's  turn  for  philosophy  has 
injured  his  poetry,  because  it  led  him  to  prefer  ideas  to  Nature, 
indeed  almost  to  annihilate  Nature.  ...  It  was  sad  to  see  how 
a  man  so  highly  gifted  tormented  himself  with  systems  of  phi- 
losophy which  would  no  way  profit  him." 

Unquestionably,  Goethe  profited  more  by  the  study  of 
Nature  than  Schiller  by  the  study  of  Kant;  but  I  cannot 
think  that  the  metaphysical  pursuits  of  the  latter  were 


368  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

injurious  in  their  influence  on  his  genius,  as  certainly 
they  were  not  without  fruit  in  his  works.  They  moder- 
ated the  glow  of  his  fancy,  toned  down  the  daring  ex- 
travagance of  his  language,  instructed  his  crude  thought, 
and  deepened  the  import  of  his  words.  Genius  is  blest 
with  a  good  digestion.  Let  no  one  think  to  prescribe  its 
dietetic.  The  food  it  elects  is  the  food  it  needs  ;  what- 
ever it  devours  it  turns  to  blood.  To  the  study  of  Kant 
we  owe  the  Esthetic  Essays,  not  the  least  important  of 
Schiller's  works,  —  essays  on  Grace  and  Dignity,  on  our 
pleasure  in  the  Tragic,  on  ^Esthetic  Education,  on  Pathos, 
on  Naive  and  Sentimental  Poetry,  on  the  Sublime,  and 
other  topics ;  essays  rich  in  suggestion,  and  which  handle 
abstruse  themes  with  an  ease  and  lucidity  unknown  to 
the  metaphysicians  proper  of  Germany.  For  the  rest,  it 
would  seem  that  Schiller  studied  metaphysics  as  means 
not  as  end,  as  stimulus  not  as  goal,  and  was  well  aware 
of  the  insufficiency  of  all  metaphysical  systems,  —  their 
inability  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  the  mind,  or  to  solve 
the  real  problems  of  life.  He  hints  as  much  in  a  comic 
poem,  "  Die  Philosophen,"  consisting  of  a  series  of  hex- 
ameters and  pentameters,  in  which  he  describes  a  confer- 
ence of  metaphysicians  in  the  underworld  with  a  pupil, 
who  applies  to  them  for  instruction. 

Pupil. 

Happy  to  find  you,  my  masters,  in  pleno  together  assembled. 
One  thing  is  needful ;  I  come  hoping  to  gain  it  from  you. 

Aristotle. 

Well  then,   to  business,  my  friend.     We  take  the  Journal  of 

Jena 
Here  in  hell,  and  we  know  all  that  is  happening  above. 


SCHILLER.  869 

Pupil. 

So  much  the  better,  then ;  give  me  (until  you  do,  I  shall  stay  here) 
Some  proposition  whereby  every  question  to  solve. 

First  Philosopher. 

Cogito  ergo  sum.     Grant  the  one,  and  the  other  must  follow; 
For  in  order  to  think,  surely  a  fellow  must  be. 

Pupil. 

Cogito  ergo  sum.    But  who  can  be  always  a- thinking? 
Surely  I  often  am  when  thinking  of  nothing  at  all. 

Second  Philosopher. 
Since  there  are  things,  there  must  be  an  eternal  thing  at  ih& 

bottom ; 
In  that  thing  of  all  things  we,  the  whole  lot  of  us,  float. 

Third  Philosopher. 

Contrariwise,  I  say,  except  myself  there  is  nothing ; 
All  else,  seeming  to  be,  is  but  a  bubble  in  me. 

Fourth  Philosopher. 
Two  sorts  of  things  I  concede,  —  the  world  and  the  soul,  we  will 

call  them. 
Neither  the  other  knows,  yet  they  contrive  to  agree. 

Fifth  Philosopher. 

I  am  I,  I  maintain ;  and  if  I  affirm  that  I  am  not, 
I  not  being  affirmed,  what  is  affirmed  is  not  I. 

Sixth  Philosopher. 

Concepts  there  certainly  are,  —  a  something  conceived  then  there 

must  be, 
Also  somewhat  that  conceives ;  these  all  together  make  three. 

Pupil. 

All  that,  gentlemen,  look  ye,  would  not  lure  a  dog  from  his  kennel. 
Propositions  I  want  wherein  is  something  proposed. 

24 


370  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Seventh  Philosopher. 

Theory  yields  nothing  certain;  the  truth  is  not  found  by  such 

seeking. 
Stick  to  the  practical  text:  all  that  I  should  do  I  can. 

Pupil. 

So  I  thought  it  would  be ;  for  want  of  a  rational  answer, 
Where  philosophy  ends,  preaching  of  duty  begins. 

Hume. 

Cease  to  consult  with  that  set ;    't  is  useless,  Kant  has  confused 

them. 
Ask  of  me ;  even  in  hell  true  to  myself  I  remain. 

Question  of  Right. 

Many  a  year,  I  confess,  my  nose  I've  made  use  of  for  smelling; 
Have  I  a  right,  now  I  ask,  thus  to  make  use  of  the  same? 

PUFENDORF. 

Serious  question  that.     I  judge  that  the  prior  possession 
Favors  your  practice ;  and  so  take  my  advice  and  smell  on. 

Intellectually,  the  most  important  event  in  Schiller's 
life  was  his  friendship  with  Goethe.  The  union  of  these 
Wo  men  —  rivals  in  fame,  both  occupying  the  height  of 
the  literary  world  of  their  time,  but  neither  claiming 
above  the  other  the  a/cpordrr)  Kopvcfifj,  the  topmost  peak 
of  honor ;  so  like  in  their  aims,  so  unlike  in  their  mental 
constitution  and  worldly  fortunes ;  the  one  raised  high 
above  sordid  cares  and  the  little  perplexities  of  life,  the 
other  poor,  harassed,  and  struggling;  the  one  calmly 
great,  the  other  grandly  aspiring  —  has  no  parallel  in 
literary  history.  It  was  not  an  easy  matter  for  Schiller 
and  Goethe  to  unite.  A  mutual  repulsion  preceded  all 
cordial  relations.  Their  first  meeting,  which  occurred 
as  early  as  1788,  augured  ill  for  the  chances  of  a  future 


SCHILLER.  371 

friendship.      Schiller    wrote  to  Korner    of    that    first 
meeting :  — 

"  We  soon  made  acquaintance,  and  without  the  slightest 
effort.  ...  On  the  whole,  I  must  say  that  my  great  idea  of 
him  is  not  lessened  by  this  personal  acquaintance.  [But,  he 
adds]  I  doubt  whether  we  shall  ever  become  intimate.  .  .  . 
His  whole  being,  from  the  foundation,  is  entirely  different  from 
mine.     His  world  is  not  my  world." 

At  another  time  he  writes  :  — 

"  He  [Goethe]  has  the  talent  of  conquering  men  and  bind- 
ing them  to  him.  He  makes  his  existence  benevolently  felt, 
but  only  like  a  god,  without  giving  himself.  This  seems  to  me 
consistent,  well-planned  conduct,  calculated  to  secure  to  himself 
the  highest  degree  of  selfish  enjoyment.  .  .  .  He  is  hateful  to 
me,  although  I  love  his  genius,  and  think  greatly  of  him.  .  .  . 
It  is  quite  a  peculiar  mixture  of  love  and  hatred  he  has  awak- 
ened in  me,  —  a  feeling  akin  to  that  which  Brutus  and  Cassius 
must  have  felt  toward  Caesar." 

And  again  :  — 

"With  Goethe,  when  he  puts  forth  his  whole  strength,  I  will 
not  compare  myself.  He  has  far  more  genius  than  I  have, 
greater  wealth  of  knowledge,  a  more  accurate  observation ;  and 
to  all  this  he  adds  an  artistic  taste,  cultivated  and  sharpened  by 
acquaintance  with  all  the  works  of  art." 

After  making  this  concession  he  adds,  in  confidence, 
writing  to  the  same  most  intimate  friend,  Korner :  — 

"  I  will  open  to  you  my  heart.  Once  for  all,  this  man,  this 
Goethe,  stands  in  my  way ;  he  reminds  me  so  often  that  Fate 
has  dealt  hardly  with  me.  How  lightly  his  genius  is  borne  by 
his  destiny,  and  how  I,  up  to  this  moment,  have  to  struggle !  " 


372  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

On  the  other  hand,  Goethe,  although  it  was  his  medi- 
ation which  procured  for  Schiller  the  Jena  professorship, 
was  greatly  disturbed  by  the  tone  and  tendency  of  his 
dramas,  and  was  shy  of  associating  with  one  whose  ide- 
als were  then  so  different  from  his  own.  Notwithstand- 
ing these  superficial  antagonisms,  it  was  impossible  that 
two  such  spirits  should  fail  to  obey  the  deeper  attraction 
of  a  common  interest,  and  to  blend  at  last  in  a  cordial 
union.  Landor  says  :  "  If  there  be  two  great  men  at 
opposite  ends  of  the  earth,  they  will  seek  each  other." 
How  much  rather  when  the  two  are  neighbors  in  space ! 
Goethe  has  recorded  the  occasion  of  their  first  contact. 
It  was  after  a  lecture,  to  which  both  had  listened,  on 
some  topic  of  natural  history.  They  discussed  together 
the  subject  presented  by  the  lecturer.  The  conference 
developed  a  wide  difference  in  the  direction  of  their 
thought,  but  it  also  revealed  to  each  the  other's  strength 
in  his  own  position.  Goethe,  apparently  determined  to 
establish  a  friendly  relation,  suppressed  his  irritation  at 
some  of  Schiller's  views,  and  Schiller  met  Goethe  half 
way  in  his  readiness  to  break  the  ice  of  reserve  between 
them.  They  soon  found  themselves  consenting,  if  not 
in  opinion,  in  respect  and  good-will ;  and  the  end  of  the 
discussion  was  the  beginning  of  the  great  duumvirate, 
which  formed  an  epoch  in  the  lives  of  both,  and  of  the 
national  literature  over  which  they  presided.  Goethe 
became  a  willing  contributor  to  Schiller's  journal^  the 
"  Horen,"  in  which  they  led  the  thought  and  formed 
the  literary  taste  of  the  nation.  They  wrought  together, 
they  conferred  together,  they  aided  one  another  with 
mutual  advice  and  suggestion ;  and  their  correspond- 
ence, continued  to  the  time  of  Schiller's  death,  embrac- 
ing a  period  of  nearly  ten  years,  reveals  an  intellectual 


SCHILLER.  873 

bond  without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  authors.  It 
has  been  aptly  characterized  as  "  the  richest  epistolary 
treasure  in  literature."  ^ 

The  following  years,  from  1794  to  1805,  the  date  of 
his  death,  were  the  richest,  the  most  productive  of 
Schiller's  life.  To  this  period  belong  his  most  finished 
works,  — "Wallenstein,"  "Maria  Stuart,"  "The  Maid 
of  Orleans,"  the  "  Bride  of  Messina,"  "  William  Tell." 
In  these  years  were  also  produced,  in  friendly  rivalry 
with  Goethe,  those  noble  ballads,  —  "The  Diver,"  "Hero 
and  Leander,"  "The  Cranes  of  Ibycus,"  "The  Fight 
with  the  Dragon,"  "  Fridolin,"  —  above  all,  "The  Song 
of  the  Bell,"  the  most  perfect  composition  of  its  kind, 
and  which,  had  he  written  nothing  else,  would  entitle  its 
author  to  immortal  fame. 

Schiller's  genius  was  essentially  dramatic.  In  true 
dramatic  power,  in  the  combination  of  poetic  thought 
with  dramatic  position,  he  surpasses  Goethe.  He  un- 
derstood the  stage,  he  appreciated  its  demands  and  its 
returns,  and  he  fitted  his  spirit  to  that  mould.  Goethe 
would  make  the  stage  subservient  to  his  thought ;  he 
sacrificed  dramatic  interest  to  philosophic.  Schiller 
adapted  his  thought  to  the  stage,  and  trusted  its  power 
to  enforce  his  word.  If  Goethe  is  the  first  poet,  Schiller 
is  the  first  dramatist,  of  his  nation,  —  may  we  not  say, 
the  greatest  dramatist  since  the  sixteenth  century  ? 

Of  the  plays  I  have  named  as  the  product  of  the  latter 
period  of  Schiller's  life,  "  The  Maid  of  Orleans  "  is  the 
most  spirited,  the  most  effective  in  the  representation, 
unless  we  except  "  William  Tell."  The  theme  is  one  of 
unfading  interest,  a  point  of  light  in  a  dark  and  tem- 

1  Calvert,  "  Goethe,  his  Life  and  Works." 


374  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

pestuous  age,  the  shining  of  a  "  good  deed  in  a  naughty 
world."  It  has  been  availed  of  by  poets,  in  drama  and 
epic,  before  Schiller  and  since.  The  simplest  statement 
of  it  is  a  poem.  In  Hallam's  bald  phrase,  "  A  country 
girl  overthrew  the  power  of  England."  The  bald  phrase 
expresses  the  bald  fact.  Henry  VI.  was  proclaimed  and 
crowned  King  of  France.  The  English,  with  the  aid  of 
Burgundy,  had  possessed  themselves  of  the  greater  part 
of  the  country,  and  would,  in  all  probability,  have  taken 
Orleans,  the  key  to  all  the  rest,  had  not  this  "  country 
girl,"  this  shepherd's  daughter,  come  to  the  rescue.  By 
her  inspired  leadership  the  siege  of  Orleans  was  raised, 
Charles  VII.  crowned,  and  France  wrested  from  the 
hands  of  the  English.  That  any  Frenchman  could 
throw  contempt  on  Jeanne  d'Arc,  the  savior  of  his 
country,  would  seem  a  monstrous  impiety,  —  and  Vol- 
taire's "  Pucelle  d'Orleans  "  has  been  characterized  as  a 
crime  against  the  nation.  It  is  matter  for  regret  that 
Joan  of  Arc  should  figure  in  Shakspeare  as  a  vulgar 
impostor  ;  but  we  have  the  consolation  of  believing  that 
the  First  Part  of  "  Henry  VI."  is  not  Shakspearian,  or 
Shakspearian  only  in  single  passages.  Schiller  is  the  only 
poet  of  a  very  high  order  (for  Southey  I  cannot  reckon 
as  such)  who  has  even  attempted  to  do  full  justice  to 
the  patriot-shepherdess  in  a  work  of  art.  His  '*  Jungfrau 
von  Orleans  "  is  no  doubt  a  highly  idealized  and  glori- 
fied presentment  of  the  woman  ;  but  such  idealization 
and  glorification  is  not  only  legitimate  but  incumbent 
on  the  poet  in  treating  such  a  subject.  He  is  bound  to 
give  the  pure  idea  of  the  person,  divested  of  the  earthly 
accidents,  abatements,  and  disgraces  of  lowly  birth  and 
a  rustic  home.  He  has  idealized  her,  as  the  old  Italian 
painters  idealized  the  humble  Galilean  woman  who  bore 


SCHILLER.  375 

the  Light  of  the  World.  His  "  Jmigfrau  "  is  inspired 
prophetess,  warrior,  and  tender  woman  in  one. 

More  questionable  is  the  author's  violation  of  historic 
fact  in  the  end  which  he  assigns  to  his  heroine,  —  death 
in  the  arms  of  victory.  Certainly,  art  has  its  rights 
as  well  as  history.  The  poet  is  not  a  chronicler ;  he 
has  a  higher  function  than  simply  to  set  forth  facts  in 
verse.  Nevertheless,  on  purely  artistic  grounds,  in 
handling  a  historic  theme,  it  is  hardly  expedient  to 
contradict  what  is  fixed,  notorious,  and  historically  im- 
portant. In  doing  so,  the  author  is  in  danger  of  awak- 
ening a  feeling  of  resentment  unfavorable  to  the  best 
effect  of  his  work.  He  loses  more  by  falsification  than 
he  gains  by  substituting  a  denouement  agreeable  to  our 
feelings.  Schiller  was  not  bound  to  reproduce  the  trial 
of  Joan  for  witchcraft  and  the  condemnation  to  death 
at  the  stake ;  but  he  might,  without  damage  to  the  scope 
of  his  play,  have  omitted  the  closing  scene,  leaving  the 
rest  as  it  stands. 

The  play  is  introduced  by  a  prelude  representing  Joan 
at  home,  her  rural  surroundings,  her  father  Thibaut, 
her  sisters  and  their  suitors,  with  her  own  lover  Rai- 
mond.  Bertrand,  a  neighbor  fresh  from  the  city  with 
the  latest  tidings,  enters  the  house  bearing  a  helmet, 
which  he  says  was  left  in  his  hand  by  an  old  woman 
who  offered  it  for  sale,  but  was  borne  away  by  the  crowd 
before  he  could  strike  a  bargain.  The  Maiden,  who  has 
listened  in  silence  until  then,  stretches  an  eager  hand 
toward  the  helmet.  "  The  helmet  is  mine,"  she  says,  — 
"  Mein  ist  der  Helm,  und  mir  gehort  er  zu."  She  has 
long  meditated  the  part  she  is  to  bear  in  the  deliverance 
of  her  country ;  she  believes  herself  divinely  called  to 
the  work  ;   the   helmet  thus  mysteriously  conveyed  is 


876  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

accepted  as  a  sign  from  Heaven,  and  precipitates  her 
purpose.  At  the  close  of  the  prelude,  after  the  rest  are 
dispersed,  she  utters  her  solemn  farewell  to  the  scenes 
of  her  youth  :  — 

"  Farewell!  ye  mountains,  ye  beloved  pastures, 
Ye  silent,  peaceful  valleys,  fare  ye  well ! 
Joanna  shall  roam  over  you  no  more, 
Joanna  bids  you  evermore  farewell! 
Ye  meadows  that  I  watered,  and  ye  trees 
Which  I  have  planted,  may  ye  flourish  still ! 
Farewell!  ye  grottoes  and  ye  cooling  springs ; 
Thou  Echo,  friendly  voice  of  this  dear  vale, 
Who  oft  hast  answered  to  my  homely  lay, 
Farewell !  Joanna  goes ;  we  part  for  aye. 

*'  For  He  who  once  on  Horeb's  mountain  lone 
Conversed  with  Moses  from  the  bush's  fire. 
And  bade  him  stand  before  high  Pharaoh's  throne; 
He  who  elected  Jesse's  warlike  son, 
The  shepherd-boy,  to  be  his  champion, 
Who  still  to  shepherds  wondrous  grace  hath  shown,  — 
He  spake  to  me,  his  handmaid,  from  that  tree: 
*  Go !  thou  art  sent  to  testify  of  me. 


*'  '  For  when  in  battle  France's  courage  dies, 
And  ruin  threatens  this  devoted  land, 
Then  shalt  thou  bid  my  oriflamme  arise. 
And  like  the  harvest  to  the  reaper's  hand, 
The  conqueror  shall  fall  before  thy  brand ; 
Thou  shalt  reverse  his  fortune's  victories, 
To  France's  warlike  sons  salvation  bring, 
Deliver  Rheims,  and  crown  thy  country's  King.' 

*'  Heaven  hath  at  length  vouchsafed  to  me  a  sign: 
This  helmet  God  hath  sent,  it  comes  from  him; 
Its  iron  thrills  me  with  a  power  divine : 
I  feel  the  valor  of  the  cherubim, 


SCHILLER,  377 

With  tempest's  force  impelling  me  to  join 
The  serried  hosts  in  front  of  battle  grim. 
The  war-cry  calls  me  to  the  fated  ground; 
The  steeds  are  rearing,  and  the  trumpets  sound." 

After  this  prelude  the  play  follows  in  the  main  the 
course  of  the  story  to  the  opening  of  the  fourth  act.  The 
Maiden  is  intrusted  with  the  command  of  the  French 
army,  which  under  her  guidance  and  inspiration  raises 
the  siege  of  Orleans,  and  pursues  its  victorious  course 
till  Charles  is  crowned  at  Rheims. 

But  the  play  could  not  end  with  this  consummation. 
The  interest  of  tragedy  does  not  admit  of  uninterrupted 
success;  it  demands  the  struggle  with  adverse  fate. 
The  manner  in  which  Schiller  attempts  to  satisfy  this 
demand  has  seemed  to  me  a  weakness  in  the  plot. 

The  Maid,  against  all  probability  and  in  utter  contra- 
diction of  the  character  ascribed  to  her  by  the  poet,  and 
thus  far  maintained,  falls  in  love  at  a  glance  with  the 
English  warrior  Lionel,  whom  she  has  overcome  in  bat- 
tle and  is  about  to  slay,  but  whose  life  this  sudden 
affection  impels  her  to  spare.  Her  conscience  upbraids 
her  with  this  weakness,  as  a  breach  of  her  vow  and  a  sin 
against  her  mission.  She  is  even  led  to  doubt  for  a 
time  the  reality  of  that  mission  which,  if  genuine,  ought 
to  have  preserved  her  from  so  grievous  a  fault.  Accord- 
ingly at  Rheims,  when  amid  the  adoration  of  the  crowd 
who  look  upon  her  as  a  messenger  from  Heaven,  her 
father  alone  impugns  her  claim  to  divine  inspiration, 
and  charges  her  publicly  with  sorcery,  she  makes  no 
reply  to  the  charge,  no  attempt  to  vindicate  herself ;  and 
when  the  archbishop  adjures  her  in  the  name  of  God  to 
give  assurance  of  her  innocence,  she  remains  immovably 
silent,  and  refuses  to  touch  the  cross  which  he  presents 


S78  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

to  her  as  a  test.  Then  all  forsake  her;  the  evidence 
of  her  guilt  seems  irresistible.  In  consideration  of  her 
services,  she  is  permitted  to  leave  the  city  unmolested, 
whi<eh  she  does  in  company  with  the  still  faithful  Rai- 
mond^  her  rustic  lover,  the  one  individual  in  all  the  land 
who  stands  by  her  in  this  extremity,  fearing,  but  not 
convinced  of  her  guilt. 

Awaking  at  last  from  the  stupor  into  which  her 
father's  ax5cusation  and  the  misgivings  of  her  own  con- 
science on  account  of  her  tenderness  for  Lionel  had 
thrown  her,  Joan  assures  Eaimond  and  convinces  him 
of  her  innocence  of  the  guilt  of  sorcery.  Meanwhile 
the  tide  of  French  success  has  turned.  The  English 
have  gained  important  advantages  ;  a  party  of  them, 
with  Isabeau  at  their  head,  have  captured  Joari.  The 
counsellors  of  Charles  are  convinced  of  their  mistake 
in  banishing  the  Maid.  Raimond  has  satisfied  them 
of  her  innocence;  they  resolve  if  possible  to  rescue 
her  from  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Then  follows  that 
scene  of  intensest  interest,  from  which  Scott  borrowed 
the  idea  of  a  similar  one  in  the  novel  of  "Ivanhoe." 
Joan,  a  prisoner  in  chains,  guarded  by  Isabeau  and  some 
soldiers  in  a  watch-tower,  hears  the  report  which  the 
warder  gives  from  time  to  time  from  the  battlements  of 
the  tower  to  the  party  within,  of  the  progress  of  the  bat- 
tle in  which  the  French  have  engaged  the  English  for 
the  recapture  of  the  Maiden.  When  at  last  he  reports 
the  capture  of  the  king,  Joan,  after  a  brief  prayer,  rends 
her  chains  asunder,  snatches  a  sword  from  the  nearest 
soldier,  and  rushes  into  the  field.  The  warder  reports 
her  flying  with  the  wings  of  the  wind,  faster  than  his 
vision  can  follow ;  he  seems  to  see  her  in  different  places 
at  once;  she  has  rescued  the  king  from  the  hands  of 


SCHILLER.  379 

his  captors;  the  English  flee,  the  French  have  posses- 
sion of  the  field.  The  closing  scene  presents  the  Maid, 
wounded  and  dying,  supported  by  the  king  and  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  followed  by  Agnes  Sorel,  —  officers  and 
soldiers  filling  the  background.  A  moment  before  her 
death  her  consciousness  returns ;  she  recognizes  the 
king  and  her  own  people,  and  calls  for  her  banner. 

"  Without  my  banner  I  may  not  appear  before  my  Master  ; 
it  was  intrusted  to  me  by  him ;  I  must  lay  it  down  before  his 
throne.  I  dare  show  it,  for  I  have  been  true  to  it.  See  ye  the 
rainbow  in  the  air  ?  Heaven  opens  its  golden  gates !  I  see 
her  [the  Virgin],  splendent  amid  the  angelic  choir,  holding  the 
eternal  Son  to  her  breast;  she  smiles,  and  stretches  her  arms 
towards  me. 

'*  I  come!  I  come!  on  clouds  upborne  I  rise; 

To  winged  robes  are  changed  the  martial  weeds. 
Aloft,  aloft !  the  earth  beneath  me  lies. 
The  pain  was  short,  — eternal  joy  succeeds!  " 

The  most  finished  of  Schiller's  dramas  is  "  Wallen- 
stein."  The  subject  had  been  suggested  by  his  studies 
in  the  preparation  of  the  historical  monograph  of  the 
"  Thirty  Years'  War."  As  early  as  1796  he  began  to 
work  at  it,  but  found  himself,  as  he  proceeded,  disap- 
pointed in  the  availability  and  manageableness  of  the 
material.  For  a  time  he  abandoned  the  project  in  de- 
spair, but  resumed  it  again  in  the  absence  of  any  theme 
more  inviting,  —  unwilling  to  lose  the  labor  already  be- 
stowed upon  it.  One  objection  to  the  story  of  "  Wallen- 
stein "  as  a  subject  for  dramatic  treatment,  was  the 
preponderance  of  will  over  fate  in  the  tragedy  of  Wal- 
lenstein's  life.  His  evil  end  was  due  rather  to  his  own 
character  than  to  adverse  circumstance,  whereas  trag- 
edy should  represent  the  hero  contending  with  inevitable 


380  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

fate.     But  the  poet  was  reassured  by  the  thought  that 
the  same  objection  applies  to  Macbeth. 

One  can  easily  understand  that  the  subject  must  have 
been  a  difficult  one  to  a  mind  like  Schiller's,  both  on 
account  of  the  historical  checks  which  the  freedom  of 
fiction  would  encounter,  and  the  absence  from  the  stage 
of  action  of  any  heroic  character  of  pure  and  lofty  type 
that  could  kindle  the  moral  enthusiasm,  which  to  him 
was  the  chief  source  of  inspiration.  This  defect  he 
endeavored  to  supply  by  the  introduction  of  Max  Picco- 
lomini,  —  one  of  the  finest  of  his  creations.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  was  an  advantage  to  him  —  and  he  felt 
it  to  be  so  —  that  the  characters  he  had  to  deal  with  in 
this  undertaking  were  not  of  a  kind  to  excite  his  enthu- 
siasm :  for  enthusiasm  was  his  weakness  as  well  as  his 
strength.  He  was  always  in  danger  of  being  mastered 
and  carried  away  by  his  theme.  Here  he  could  keep  it 
in  due  subjection,  and  by  so  doing  handle  it  with  genu- 
ine artistic  skill.     To  Goethe  he  writes  :  — 

"  You  will  be  satisfied  with  the  spirit  in  which  I  am  work- 
ing. I  succeed  entirely  in  keeping  my  material  external  to 
myself.  The  subject  leaves  me  cold.  I  have  never  expe- 
rienced such  indifference  to  the  subject-matter,  combined  with 
such  interest  in  my  task." 

The  study  of  the  historic  sources  —  the  annals  of  the 
time  in  which  the  scene  is  laid  —  was  a  very  laborious 
and  to  his  impatience  very  tedious  task,  but  was  con- 
scientiously performed,  although  he  saw  fit  in  some  par- 
ticulars to  swerve  from,  historic  verity.  The  work, 
begun  in  1796  but  interrupted  by  sickness  and  other 
hindrances,  was  not  completed  until  the  spring  of  1799. 
The  separate  parts  of  it  were  put  upon  the  stage  with 
the  best  success  at  Weimar  and  Berlin.     The  whole  was 


SCHILLER.  381 

given  to  the  public  through  the  press  in  June,  1800. 
An  edition  of  thirty-five  hundred  copies  was  exhausted 
in  two  months,  —  a  thing  unexampled  at  that  time  in 
the  case  of  a  work  of  high  art. 

I  said  that  "  Wallenstein "  is  Schiller's  greatest  dra- 
matic work.  I  may  add,  it  is  the  most  finished  dra- 
matic composition,  on  so  grand  a  scale,  in  modern  time. 
"  Faust,"  of  course,  is  a  far  prof ounder  work,  the  product 
of  a  deeper  poetic  nature ;  but  "  Faust "  is  exceptional, 
incommensurable,  not  to  be  counted  in  any  comparison 
of  plays  intended  for  the  stage.  Schiller's  drama  is  a 
trilogy,  or  series  of  plays,  consisting  of  three  members 
closely  connected  one  with  another,  yet  each  by  itself 
a  perfect  whole.  The  first,  named  "  Wallenstein's 
Camp,"  introduces  us  to  the  scene  of  action,  and  ex- 
hibits in  lively  pictures  the  character  of  Wallenstein's 
army  and  the  state  of  the  time,  —  a  time  when  war  had 
come  to  be  regarded  as  the  normal  condition  of  society, 
and  the  soldier's  profession  as  the  real  business  of  life, 
to  which  all  other  callings  are  bound  to  contribute.  Its 
tone  is  comic ;  its  broad  realism  differs  so  widely  from 
Schiller's  other  productions,  that  the  critics  suspected 
Goethe's  hand.  But  all  that  Goethe  did  for  it  was  to 
furnish  the  author  with  a  sermon  of  Abraham  a  Santa 
Clara,  which  gave  the  cue  for  the  preaching  of  the  Capu- 
chin, the  chaplain  of  the  camp,  —  an  effective  feature  of 
the  play.  The  piece  ends  with  a  song,  which  celebrates 
the  life  of  the  soldier,  — 

"  He  casts  away  life's  cares  and  its  gloom, 

No  fear  hath  he  and  no  sorrow ; 
Boldly  he  braves  a  soldier's  doom,  — 

It  may  come  to-day  or  to-morrow. 
If  not  till  to-morrow,  to-day  let  us  drain 
The  last  dear  drops  in  life's  cup  that  remain. 


382  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

*' Heaven  sends  our  portion:  it  comes  with  mirth, 

It  comes  without  toil  or  measure, 
While  the  peasant  wrings  from  the  stingy  earth 

A  scanty,  pitiful  treasure. 
He  plods  through  life  a  drivelling  slave, 
And  digs  and  digs,  till  he  digs  his  grave. 

*'  Why  mourneth  the  maiden;  why  wringeth  her  hands? 
Let  him  go,  let  his  memory  perish  ! 
No  home  hath  the  soldier,  he  heeds  no  bands. 

Love's  troth  he  may  not  cherish. 
Fate  hurries  him  on  an  endless  race, 
On  earth  he  hath  no  resting-place. 

**  Away,  then,  away!  leave  hearts  and  leave  homes! 
Farewell  to  love's  caresses ! 
While  youth  beats  high  and  life's  goblet  foams 

Away,  ere  the  foam  effervesces ! 
Let  him  who  would  win  his  life  at  last. 
Stake  life  and  all  on  the  battle's  cast ! " 

The  Second  Part  is  called  "  The  Piccolomini,"  taking 
its  title  from  the  two  principal  characters  so  named,  — 
Octavio  and  Max  Piccolomini,  —  father  and  son,  both 
leading  officers  in  Wallenstein's  army.  The  subject  is 
the  plot  by  which,  with  Wallenstein's  connivance,  the 
majority  of  his  officers  are  planning  to  detach  the  army 
from  the  Emperor,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  Swedes  and 
the  other  Protestant  forces  to  place  him  on  the  throne 
of  Bohemia.  The  elder  Piccolomini,  who  unknown  to 
Wallenstein  is  attached  to  the  Emperor  and  in  his  em- 
ploy, appears  to  conspire  with  the  rest,  and  signs  their 
treasonable  covenant,  in  order  to  win  their  confidence 
and  frustrate  their  plans.  But  Max,  a  high-souled 
youth,  will  neither  join  the  conspiracy  against  the  Em- 
peror nor  side  with  his  father  against  Wallenstein, 
whom  he  worships,  —  whom   he  believes  incapable  of 


SCHILLER.  383 

treason,  and  of  whose  daughter  Thekla  he  is  the  ac- 
cepted lover. 

"  The  Piccolomini "  contains  many  fine  passages,  — 
among  them  Octavio's  answer  to  Max's  disparagement  of 
ancient  ordinances.  I  give  it  in  Coleridge's  version,— 
one  of  the  few  passages  in  which  he  has  done  justice  to 
the  original.  And  here  let  me  say  that  Coleridge's  trans- 
lation, which  used  to  be  very  much  praised,  is  in  my 
judgment  a  very  poor  one.  He  has  not  always  appre- 
hended the  meaning  of  the  German,  and  where  he  has 
done  so,  seldom  reproduces  it  in  adequate  vigorous  Eng- 
lish.    But  this  is  an  exception  :  — 

"  My  son,  of  those  old  narrow  ordinances 
Let  us  not  hold  too  lightly.     They  are  weights 
Of  priceless  worth,  with  which  oppressed  mankind 
Restrained  the  volatile  will  of  their  oppressors. 
For  always  formidable  was  the  league 
And  partnership  of  free  power  with  free  will. 
The  way  of  ancient  order,  though  it  winds. 
Is  yet  no  devious  way.     Straight  forward  goes 
The  lightning's  path,  and  straight  the  fearful  path 
Of  the  cannon  ball.     Direct  it  flies  and  rapid, 
Shattering  that  it  may  reach,  and  shattering  what  it  reaches. 
My  son,  the  road  the  human  being  travels. 
That  on  which  Blessing  comes  and  goes,  doth  follow 
The  river's  course,  the  valley's  playful  windings, 
Curves  round  the  cornfield  and  the  hill  of  vines, 
Honoring  the  holy  bounds  of  property,  — 
And  thus  secure,  though  late,  leads  to  its  goal." 

'^  The  Piccolomini "  has  also  that  beautiful  song  of 
Thekla :  — 

"  Der  Eichwald  brauset,  die  Wolken  ziehn, 
Das  Magdlein  wandelt  an  Ufers  griin.'* 

Of  course,  like  all  such  things  it  is  untranslatable,  and 
yet  I  am  tempted  to  imitate  it  in  English :  — 


384  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"■  The  clouds  are  flying,  the  oak-trees  roar, 
The  maiden  is  pacing  the  green  of  the  shore, 
The  waves  are  breaking  with  might,  with  might. 
And  she  sends  forth  her  sighs  on  the  darksome  night, 
Her  eyes  with  weeping  beclouded. 

*'  My  heart  it  is  dead,  and  the  world  is  drear, 
There 's  nothing  left  me  to  wish  for  here ; 
Thou  Holy  One,  take  thy  child,  thine  own! 
The  fulness  of  earthly  delight  I  have  known,  — 
I  have  lived,  I  have  loved,  I  have  ended." 

The  closing  piece  of  the  trilogy  — "  Wallenstein's 
Death  "  —  exhibits  first  his  fearful  struggle  with  himself 
before  taking  the  final  irrevocable  step  to  which  his 
previous  action  and  the  complication  of  events  are  driv- 
ing him.  He  shudders  at  the  abyss  of  treason,  on  whose 
brink  he  stands ;  but  he  has  gone  too  far  to  retract,  and 
so  concludes  the  fatal  compact  with  the  Swedes,  his 
country's  enemies.  Then  comes  his  blind  trust  in  Octa- 
vio,  founded  in  superstition,  against  the  warning  of  the 
chief  conspirators ;  and  Octavio's  counterplots,  by  which 
he  withdraws  Isolani  and  Buttler,  two  of  Wallenstein's 
main  dependants,  and  a  large  portion  of  the  army  from 
their  general.  A  more  romantic  interest  attaches  to  the 
fate  of  Max  Piccolomini.  Divided  between  his  duty  to 
the  Emperor,  to  whom  he  is  bound  by  his  oath  of  alle- 
giance, and  his  love  for  Thekla,  who  is  lost  to  him  un- 
less he  follows  the  fortunes  of  her  father,  in  the  terrible 
conflict  which  rends  his  soul  he  appeals  to  her  decision. 
And  she  —  the  fairest,  noblest,  if  not  the  most  com- 
manding figure  in  German  drama  —  sides  with  his  con- 
science, against  his  and  her  love,  and  her  father's  for- 
tunes. She  will  rather  have  his  image  pure,  than  himself 
with  a  taint  on  his  name.     "  Go,"  she  says,  "  fulfil  your 


SCHILLER,  885 

duty ;  be  true  to  yourself,  and  you  will  be  true  to  me. 
Fate  divides  us,  but  our  hearts  will  be  one.  Bloody  hate 
forever  separates  your  house  and  mine,  but  we  belong 
not  to  our  house."  And  so  they  part.  His  devoted 
cuirassiers,  fearing  that  Wallenstein  might  forcibly  de- 
tain him  as  a  hostage,  surround  the  house  in  which  this 
interview  takes  place.  He  hears  the  regimental  band. 
'*  Blow !  blow  !  "  he  says ;  "  would  it  were  the  Swedish 
trumpets  that  are  sounding,  and  that  all  the  swords 
which  I  see  here  were  plunged  in  my  breast.  You  have 
come  to  tear  me  away  ?  Consider  what  you  are  doing ; 
it  is  not  well  to  choose  a  desperate  man  for  a  leader. 
You  will  have  me  ?  Well,  then,  you  have  chosen  your 
own  destruction."  The  warning  is  verified.  Eager  for 
death,  he  soon  heads  an  attack  on  the  Swedes,  in  which 
he  falls,  and  his  regiment  to  a  man  is  cut  to  pieces. 
Thekla,  hearing  of  his  death  and  learning  the  place  of 
his  interment,  prevails  on  her  companion,  Neubrunn,  to 
accompany  her  on  a  visit  to  his  grave ;  and  that  is  the 
last  we  hear  of  her.  Wallenstein  breaks  up  his  camp 
and  departs  with  a  remnant  of  his  army  to  Eger,  to  await 
the  arrival  of  his  new  allies  the  Swedes ;  and  there  is 
assassinated,  together  with  his  two  associates,  Illo  and 
Terzky,  by  the  treachery  of  Buttler,  his  professed  ad- 
herent and  friend,  who  thus  avenges  a  private  grievance, 
while  establishing,  as  he  hopes,  a  claim  to  imperial  favor 
and  promotion. 

Out  of  many  striking  passages  in  this  the  most  fin- 
ished, I  have  said,  of  Schiller's  plays,  I  cite  in  a  prose 
translation  the  one  in  which  Wallenstein  justifies  his 
confidence  in  Octavio  against  the  earnest  remonstrances 
of  Illo  and  Terzky,  who  believe  him  to  be  false  and  dan- 
gerous.    It  illustrates  the  superstition  which  formed  so 

25 


386  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

controlling  and  so  fatal  an  element  in  Wallenstein's 
character :  — 

"  There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  man  when  he  is  nearer 
than  usual  to  the  spirit  of  the  Universe,  and  has  the  privilege 
of  questioning  Fate.  It  was  such  a  moment  when,  in  the  night 
which  preceded  the  battle  of  Liitzen,  I  stood  leaning  against  a 
tree  and  thoughtfully  surveyed  the  plain.  The  camp-fires  shone 
dim  through  the  mist ;  the  silence  was  interrupted  only  by  the 
hollow  clash  of  arms  and  the  monotonous  call  of  the  sentinels 
on  their  round.  My  whole  life,  past  and  to  come,  at  that  mo- 
ment presented  itself  to  my  inner  vision,  and  my  foreboding 
mind  connected  the  most  distant  future  with  the  event  of  the 
next  day.  And  I  said  to  myself,  '  So  many  are  subject  to  thy 
command ;  they  follow  thy  stars,  they  stake  their  all,  as  on  a 
lucky  number,  on  thy  single  head,  and  have  embarked  in  the 
vessel  which  bears  thy  fortunes.  But  the  day  will  come  when 
Fate  shall  scatter  them.  But  few  will  remain  faithful  to  you. 
I  desire  to  know  who  of  all  whom  this  camp  contains  is  most 
to  be  trusted.  Give  me  a  token,  Fate !  Let  it  be  he  who  in 
the  morning  shall  first  meet  me  with  a  sign  of  love.'  Thus 
thinking,  I  fell  asleep.  And  in  spirit  I  was  borne  into  the 
midst  of  the  battle.  Great  was  the  press.  My  horse  was  killed 
beneath  me.  I  fell,  and  over  me  leaped  indifferently  horse  and 
rider.  Panting,  I  lay  as  one  dying,  trodden  by  the  stroke  of 
their  hoofs.  Then  suddenly  an  arm  seized  me ;  it  was  Octa- 
vio's,  and  immediately  I  awoke.  It  was  day,  and  Octavio  stood 
before  me.  *  My  brother,'  said  he,  '  ride  not  the  roan  to-day  as 
usual.  Mount  rather  this  safer  beast,  which  I  have  selected 
for  you.  Do  it  for  love  of  me ;  I  have  been  warned  by  a  dream.' 
And  that  horse's  fleetness  saved  me  when  pursued  by  Bannier's 
dragoons.  My  cousin  rode  the  roan  that  day,  and  horse  and 
rider  I  never  saw  again." 

Illo.  That  was  an  accident. 

Wall.  There  is  no  accident.  What  seems  to  us  blind  chance,  pre- 
cisely that  has  the  deepest  origin.  I  have  it  under  sign  and  seal 
that  he  [Octavio]  is  my  good  angel.    And  now  not  a  word  more. 


SCHILLER,  387 

And  not  a  word  more  was  said,  for  Wallenstein  was 
not  a  person  to  be  contradicted.  But  when  it  transpired 
that  Octavio  had  after  all  betrayed  him,  Terzky  dared  to 
reproach  him  for  his  superstitious  trust,  —  "  Oh,  had  you 
believed  me  !  You  see  now  how  the  stars  have  lied  to 
you  !  "     Wallenstein  replies  :  — 

"  The  stars  lie  not ;  but  this  has  happened  in  spite  of  stars 
and  fate.  A  false  heart  causes  the  veracious  heavens  to  de- 
ceive. Prophecy  presupposes  truth,  but  when  Nature  breaks 
bounds,  all  science  is  at  fault." 

The  remaining  dramas  are  "  Mary  Stuart,"  "  The  Bride 
of  Messina,"  and  "  William  Tell."  "  Mary  Stuart  "  far 
excels  "  Wallenstein  "  in  scenic  effects,  but  falls  as  far 
below  it  in  philosophic  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  in  poetic 
interest.  It  has  not  so  many  spirited  passages  as  "  Wal- 
lenstein," or  "The  Jungfrau  von  Orleans;"  but  one  of 
surpassing  beauty  is  the  first  scene  of  the  third  act, 
where,  in  the  park  of  Fotheringay,  Mary  invokes  the 
clouds  that  are  flying  southward  in  the  direction  of  her 
beloved  France :  — 

*'  Eilende  Wolken  Segler  der  Liifte, 
War  mit  euch  wanderte,  wer  mit  euch  schifftel 
Griisset  nur  freundlich  main  Jugandland  ! " 

*'  Ya  hurrying  clouds,  voyagars  of  tha  air, 
Oh,  that  I  could  rova  and  sail  with  you! 
Bear  a  friend's  greeting  to  tha  land  of  my  youth!  " 

"  The  Bride  of  Messina  "  is  a  dramatic  poem,  having 
for  its  subject  the  rivalry  of  two  brothers,  both  lovers 
of  the  same  maiden,  who  turns  out  to  be  their  sister. 
Before  the  discovery  of  this  relation,  one  brother  in  a  fit 
of  jealousy  kills  the  other,  and  after  the  discovery,  in 
the  anguish  of  his  remorse,  kills  himself.  In  this  com- 
position Schiller  attempted  to  revive  the  chorus  of  the 


388  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ancient  drama,  —  successfully,  as  it  regards  the  reader, 
thanks  to  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  choral  passages ; 
not  so  successfully,  as  it  regards  stage-effect.  "-  The 
Bride  of  Messina  "  has  never  been  one  of  the  stock-pieces 
of  the  German  theatre.  With  actors  of  a  high  order, 
and  a  very  refined  and  cultivated  audience,  it  may  still 
please;  but  its  lyric  and  unspectacular  character,  like 
that  of  "'  Samson  Agonistes,"  unfits  it  for  ordinary  dra- 
matic use.  As  a  poem,  like  "  Samson  Agonistes,"  it 
must  always  hold  a  high  rank. 

Schiller's  last  important  work  was  his  dramatization 
of  the  story  of  "  William  Tell,"  in  those  days  still  re- 
garded as  historical.  Goethe,  in  his  last  visit  to  Switz- 
erland in  1797,  conceived  the  project  of  an  epic  founded 
on  the  same  theme,  but  soon  discovered  its  unfitness  for 
that  purpose.  Schiller  discerned  its  dramatic  capabili- 
ties, and  Goethe,  when  apprised  of  his  intention  to  give 
it  that  form,  turned  over  to  him  his  notes  of  Swiss 
scenery  and  other  matters  of  local  interest.  With  the  aid 
of  these,  of  Tscudi's  history,  and  other  sources,  Schiller, 
who  never  saw  Switzerland,  succeeded  wonderfully  in 
catching  the  spirit  of  Swiss  life  and  reproducing  it  in 
his  drama.  The  opening  scene  transports  us  at  once  to 
the  Lake  of  Lucerne,  into  the  heart  of  the  Four  Cantons. 
We  hear  the  Kanz  de  Yaches,  and  before  the  actors  ap- 
pear on  the  stage,  the  stage  itself  with  the  genius  loci, 
on  which  so  much  depends,  are  brought  vividly  before 
us.  The  piece  has  less  substance,  and  it  seems  to  me 
less  merit,  than  most  of  Schiller's  later  plays.  The  char- 
acterization is  feeble,  the  fable  thin ;  the  action  after  the 
death  of  Gessler  drags.  The  greater  part  of  the  fifth 
act  is  superfluous ;  the  murder  of  Albert  by  Johannes 


SCHILLER.  389 

Paricida  introduces  a  distinct  and  foreign  interest.  The 
play  really  ends  with  the  destruction  of  Zwing-Uri,  the 
stronghold  of  despotism.  One  would  say  that  that  scene, 
which  begins  the  fifth,  should  have  been  added  to  the 
fourth  act  and  have  formed  the  conclusion  of  the  piece. 
On  the  whole,  "  William  Tell  "  owes  its  success,  I  judge, 
to  its  scenic  presentments,  to  its  Swiss  atmosphere,  to 
our  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  liberty,  rather  than  to 
those  higher  merits  which  distinguish  the  author's  best 
works. 

Schiller  is  not  only  Germany's  greatest  dramatist,  he 
is  also  one  of  her  foremost  lyrists.  In  his  lyric  poems, 
arranged  in  three  periods,  we  trace  a  marvellous  progress 
from  the  laboring  tumid  style,  the  pompous  diction,  the 
puerile  extravagance  of  the  first  period,  to  the  ease  and 
finished  grace  of  the  third.  In  the  earlier  pieces  the 
poet's  young  enthusiasm  expresses  itself  often  in  mon- 
strous hyperbole.  Thus,  in  the  poem  entitled  "  Laura 
at  the  Pianoforte,"  he  assures  the  young  lady  to  whom 
this  poem,  with  several  others,  is  addressed,  that  the 
winds  are  reverentially  hushed,  and  that  Nature  pauses 
in  her  eternal  course  to  hear  her  performance  ;  also,  that 
harmonies  swarm  from  the  chords  she  touches  like  new- 
born seraphim  from  their  heavens ;  moreover,  that  the 
magic  tones  she  elicits  stream  forth  as  suns,  which, 
roused  into  being  by  the  storm  of  creation,  and  escaped 
from  the  giant  arm  of  chaos,  rush  sparkling  out  of  night. 
Whether  the  worthy  bookseller's  daughter.  Miss  Margaret 
Schwan,  the  supposed  original  of  Laura,  accepted  these 
statements  as  being  a  correct  account  of  her  playing,  we 
are  not  informed  ;  we  only  know  that  she  did  not  accept 
the  offer  of  the  author's  hand. 


390  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  best  known  of  Schiller's  lyric  poems  are  the  bal- 
lads, "  The  Ring  of  Polykrates,"  "  The  Diver,"  "  Hero 
and  Leander,"  "  Ritter  Toggenburg,"  "  Fridolin,"  and 
others,  —  all  products  of  the  third  period,  whose  super 
lative  excellence  needs  no  praise.  Of  these  the  "  Ritter 
Toggenburg  "  is  esteemed  by  German  critics  the  most 
poetic.  I  have  endeavored  in  the  following  version  to 
catch  the  tone,  but  no  version  can  do  justice  to  the  ex- 
quisite simplicity  of  the  original :  — 

THE  RITTER  TOGGENBURG. 

♦'  Knight!  the  love  we  owe  a  brother 

I  to  thee  may  give,  — 
Sister's  love:  demand  no  other, 

For  it  makes  me  grieve. 
All  thy  coming  and  thy  going 

Tranquil  I  would  see, 
Nor  with  silent  grief  o'erflowing, 

Meaningless  to  me." 

Hears  the  knight  with  anguish  smarting, 

Dares  no  longer  stay, 
With  a  wild  embrace  at  parting 

Tears  himself  away. 
At  his  summons  round  him  rally 

All  his  Switzer-band ; 
With  the  cross  bedeckt  they  sally 

To  the  Holy  Land. 

There  great  deeds  and  valor  glorious 

Prove  a  hero's  arm, 
And  his  plume,  it  waves  victorious 

Where  the  foemen  swarm. 
And  the  Toggenburger's  daring 

Awes  the  Saracen ; 
But  the  wound,  his  bosom  tearing. 

Will  not  heal  again. 


SCHILLER.  391 

He  has  borne  a  year  of  sorrow, 

He  can  bear  no  more ; 
Peace  from  war  he  may  not  borrow. 

Quits  the  Paynim  shore. 
Sees  a  ship  with  canvas  swelling, 

Hard  by  Joppa's  strand; 
Seeks  the  air  that  fans  her  dwelling. 

Air  her  breath  has  fanned. 

To  her  hall  the  pilgrim  hies  him, 

Knocketh  at  her  gate. 
Thunder-tidings  there  apprise  him 

He  has  come  too  late. 
"  She  you  seek  is  consecrated 

All  with  veil  and  vows ; 
Yesterday  with  God  was  mated, 

Now  is  Heaven's  spouse." 

Then  the  knight  renounced  forever 

Castle,  sword,  and  spear. 
Saw  his  unused  armor  never 

Nor  his  steed  so  dear. 
From  the  Toggenburg  he  wended 

Pilgriming  unknown ; 
Limbs  that  once  with  steel  were  splendid 

Now  the  haircloth  own. 

Henceforth,  lost  to  war  and  glory. 

He  has  built  his  home 
Where  amid  the  lindens  hoary 

Shines  the  convent's  dome. 
There  he  sat  when  morn  was  beaming. 

Sat  till  close  of  day. 
Eyes  with  glad  expectance  gleaming. 

Watched  he  there  alway. 

Looked  to  where  the  convent  glistened 

Ancient  trees  among. 
Toward  her  casement  looked  and  listened 

Till  the  casement  swung; 


392  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Till  the  loved  one  he  discovered, 

Till  her  image  mild 
Bending  o'er  the  valley  hovered, 

On  the  valley  smiled. 

Solaced  then,  nor  further  wooing. 

Rested  through  the  night, 
Trusting  that  the  day  ensuing 

Should  renew  the  sight. 
Every  other  hope  resigning, 

While  the  years  went  round, 
Still  he  waited  unrepining 

For  the  casement's  sound. 

Till  the  loved  one  he  discovered. 

Till  her  image  mild 
Bending  o'er  the  valley  hovered, 

On  the  valley  smiled. 
Thus  one  morning  found  him  lying 

Cold  in  death's  embrace ; 
Toward  her  casement  still,  in  dying, 

Gazed  the  tranquil  face. 

Of  higher  import  than  the  ballads,  foremost  and  grand- 
est of  all  Schiller's  poems,  familiar  to  most  of  us  through 
Retzsch's  Outlines,  is  "  The  Song  of  the  Bell,''  —  a  jewel 
of  great  price,  which  any  language  might  covet  and  any 
poet  be  proud  to  place  in  his  crown  of  fame ;  a  poem 
which  embraces  in  one  symbol  the  stated  aspects  of  our 
common  humanity,  and  sings  the  song  of  fate  to  the 
chorus  of  industry. 

Of  Schiller's  external  history  there  is  little  to  be  said 
in  addition  to  the  facts  already  named.  The  last  six 
years  of  his  life,  with  the  exception  of  portions  of  the 
summer,  were  spent  in  Weimar.  In  1802  he  received, 
through  the  mediation   of  the   grand  duke,  from  the 


SCHILLER,  393 

German  emperor,  Francis  II.,  the  diploma  of  nobility, 
which,  though  it  could  add  nothing  to  his  fame,  changed 
essentially  his  civil  status.  In  no  Christian  country  has 
the  difference  between  commoner  and  noble  been  more 
marked  than  it  was  in  Germany  at  that  time.  The 
preposition  von^  or  the  letter  ?;.,  prefixed  to  a  man's  pa- 
tronym,  was  a  talisman  which  opened  to  the  bearer  a 
charmed  circle,  closed  to  all  beside.  Schiller  cared  lit- 
tle for  it  on  his  own  account,  but  accepted  it  gladly  for 
the  sake  of  his  family,  to  whom  it  was  important,  in  a 
place  like  Weimar,  to  have  access  to  everything  in  the 
way  of  social  entertainment  which  the  place  might  af- 
ford. The  National  Convention  of  France  had  already, 
in  1792,  voted  him  Citoyen  Frangais,  —  in  their  estima- 
tion the  highest  title  in  the  heraldry  of  nations.  It  was 
probably  a  reminiscence  of  the  "  Robbers  "  that  procured 
him  that  undesired  honor.  The  record  described  him  as 
"  le  sieur  Gille,  publiciste  allemand." 

Schiller's  health,  so  often  invaded  by  long  fits  of  dis- 
abling sickness,  received  its  final  blow  in  the  spring  of 
1805.  On  the  6th  of  May  he  took  to  his  bed,  from  which 
he  rose  no  more.  On  tlie  evening  of  the  7th,  after 
a  short  conversation  on  the  subject  of  tragedy,  with 
his  sister-in-law,  he  dozed,  and  was  heard  to  mutter  in 
his  sleep,  "Is  that  your  heaven?  Is  that  your  hell?" 
The  next  day  the  power  of  speech  was  nearly  gone. 
"  Brighter  and  brighter  "  were  his  last  intelligible  words, 
in  answer  to  a  question  how  it  was  with  him.  On  the 
9th  he  died.  A  kiss  received  by  his  wife,  as  she  bent 
over  his  pillow,  was  the  last  sign  he  gave  of  conscious 
life.  Soon  after,  an  electric  shock  seemed  to  pass  over 
his  features,  followed  by  an  expression  as  of  one  trans- 
figured and  translated. 


394  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

On  the  night  of  the  11th  of  May  his  mortal  remains, 
attended  by  few  followers,  were  borne  to  the  cemetery 
of  the  church  of  Saint  James,  from  whence,  after  a  lapse 
of  twenty-two  years,  through  the  efforts  of  Ludwig,  King 
of  Bavaria,  they  were  transferred  to  the  ducal  vault, 
where  they  now  rest  beside  those  of  Karl  August  and  of 
Goethe. 

Goethe  lay  dangerously  ill  at  the  time  of  Schiller's 
death.  His  family  feared  to  communicate  the  tidings ; 
he  read  unusual  concern  in  their  looks.  "  I  perceive,^' 
he  said,  "  that  Schiller  must  be  very  sick."  To  a  lady 
friend  the  next  day  he  said,  inquiringly,  "  Schiller  was 
very  ill  yesterday,  was  he  not  ?  "  She  burst  into  tears. 
"  Is  he  dead  ? "  he  asked.  "  You  have  said  it,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  he  is  dead."  "  He  is  dead ! "  repeated  Goethe, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

On  the  11th  of  August,  in  the  same  year,  a  memorial 
service  was  held  in  honor  of  the  deceased,  in  the  theatre 
at  Lauchstedt.  "  The  Song  of  The  Bell "  was  presented 
with  great  pomp,  and  was  followed  by  an  epilogue  in 
which  Goethe  celebrates  with  glowing  verse  the  praises 
of  his  brother  poet.  Ten  years  later  the  performance 
was  repeated  with  some  alterations,  and  the  epilogue,  as 
then  delivered,  is  preserved  in  the  full  collection  of 
Goethe's  works.  I  give  the  last  two  stanzas  in  Clarke's 
translation :  — 

'*  Many  there  were  who  while  he  dwelt  on  earth 
Hardly  due  honor  to  his  powers  would  pay, 

But  now  are  overshadowed  by  his  worth, 
And  willing  subjects  to  his  magic  lay. 

Up  to  the  Highest  borne,  a  second  birth 

Links  him  with  all  the  best  that 's  passed  away. 

Then  honor  him !     What  life  but  poorly  gave, 

An  after- world  shall  heap  upon  his  grave. 


SCHILLER.  395 

Thus  he  remains  with  us,  remains  though  gone, 

Though  ten  years  since  he  vanished  from  our  side  I 
Yet  all  by  him  first  taught,  by  him  made  known, 

The  world  receives  with  joy,  and  we  with  pride; 
And  long  ago  that  which  was  most  his  own 

Has  passed  through  countless  hearts  in  circle  wide. 
4Jo  like  a  comet  vanishing  away, 

Th'  eternal  light  he  blends  with  his  own  ray." 


396  HOURS  WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


A 


CHAPTER  XYIL 

JEAN   PAUL. 

FAMILIAR  distinction  in  literary  character  is 
7  that  of  personal  and  impersonal,  —  of  authors 
who  exhibit  themselves  in  their  writings,  and  authors 
who  are  hidden  in  their  theme.  Of  the  former  class, 
we  have  among  the  ancients  a  marked  example  in 
Plutarch ;  among  the  moderns,  in  Montaigne,  in  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  in  Laurence  Sterne ;  and  quite  re- 
cently, in  Thomas  Carlyle. 

To  this  class  belongs  pre-eminently  the  German  hu- 
morist Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter,  —  commonly  known 
as  Jean  Paul,  —  one  of  the  most  popular  writers  of  his 
day  ;  and  though  now  little  read,  still  ranked  as  a  clas- 
sic by  his  countrymen.  His  unconventional  peculiari- 
ties of  style  gave  rise  to  the  sobriquet,  der  Uinzige, — 
"  the  unique,"  the  only.  A  style  it  is  in  which  comic 
and  tragic  sublimity  and  drollery,  gorgeous  fancies  and 
grotesque  conceits,  blend  in  wild  confusion.  His  works 
are  labyrinths,  in  which  the  main  theme  is  continually 
losing  itself  in  irrelevant  episodes,  —  sometimes  enter- 
taining, often  wearying,  always  distracting.  His  domi- 
nant principle  in  composition  seems  to  have  been  to  omit 
nothing,  to  work  in  somehow,  to  lug  in  somewhere,  all 
that  he  had  ever  r^ad  or  thought  of,  —  a  habit  incompati- 
ble with  artistic  excellence.  Art  requires  sacrifice,  sup- 
pression of  what  is  superfluous  and  irrelevant,  in  favor  of 


JEAN  PAUL.  397 

a  well-proportioned,  consecutive  whole.  Jean  Paul  would 
sacrifice  nothing.  Whatever  fancy  suggested,  must  go, 
into  his  writing.  Hence,  the  writing  is  often  deformed  by 
superfluous,  however  ingenious,  conceits, — as  a  beautiful 
hand  is  deformed  by  superabundant  rings. 

But  with  all  this  deduction,  and  in  spite  of  these  de- 
fects, Jean  Paul  is  a  writer  of  a  very  high  order,  if  not 
of  the  highest,  —  nay,  a  true  poet  in  all  but  the  tech- 
nics of  poetry.  In  subtlety  of  thought,  in  philosophic 
insight,  in  nice  observation,  in  loving  sympathy  with 
nature,  in  sensuous  imagination,  in  richness  of  fancy,  in 
sublimity  of  vision,  he  is  second  to  none  of  his  country- 
men. Few  writings  yield  to  the  collector  so  rich  a  har- 
vest of  memorable  sayings,  beautiful  images,  portable  wis- 
dom. Few  authors  have  climbed  to  literary  eminence  by 
rougher  ways  and  with  heavier  impediments ;  and  none 
ever  manifested  a  more  persistent  heroism  in  that  pur- 
suit. His  early  life  was  a  long  and  doubtful  struggle 
with  mean  conditions  and  abject  poverty, —  a  struggle 
for  existence  as  well  as  fame.  Bread  he  could  have  as 
a  teacher;  but  he  knew  his  vocation,  and  persisted  to 
write  and  to  starve.  He  conquered  at  last,  and  looking 
back  on  those  trial-years  could  see  a  blessing  in  the 
bruises  and  pinches  of  adverse  fortune ;  could  see  that 
"  wealth  bears  heavier  on  talent  than  poverty."  "  Under 
gold  mountains  and  thrones  who  knows  how  many  a 
spiritual  giant  may  lie  crushed  down  and  buried." 

What  we  know  of  Jean  Paul's  history  comes  to  us 
partly  from  his  autobiography,  extending  to  his  thir- 
teenth year,  in  the  whimsical  form  of  lectures  by  a  pro- 
fessor, and  partly  from  biographical  notices  and  the  re- 
daction of  his  correspondence  by  his  friend  Otto,  and 
his  nephew  Dr.  Richard  Otto  Spazier. 


398  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  device  of  constituting  himself  professor  of  his 
own  life-history  is  due,  T  think,  to  a  very  active  though 
very  innocent  egoism;  seeking  in  this  disguise  a  free- 
dom of  self-portraiture  which  a  more  direct  method 
would  not  allow.  He  would  seem  to  view  himself  ob- 
jectively, to  handle  his  case  as  it  were  that  of  another,  — 
a  feat  of  which  Jean  Paul,  of  all  men,  was  least  capa- 
ble. In  strict  consistency  with  his  assumed  position  of 
lecturer,  he  should  have  spoken  of  himself  in  the  third 
person  ;  but  that  was  impossible  to  him.  He  cannot 
suflficiently  separate  himself  from  himself,  and  so,  like 
other  autobiographers,  he  makes  use  of  the  first. 

The  professor  gives  as  the  date  of  his  birth  the  21st 
of  March,  1763.  He  pleases  himself  with  the  thought 
that  he  and  the  spring  were  born  together.  No  man  had 
a  better  right  to  call  the  spring  his  foster-brother.  No 
one  ever  studied  its  aspects  more  lovingly,  or  hailed  the 
annual  visitant  with  deeper  emotion. 

Jean  Paul's  birthplace  was  Wonsiedel,  a  Bavarian  vil- 
lage in  the  Fichtelgebirge.  His  father,  Johann  Christian 
Christoph,  teacher  and  organist,  was  the  son  of  Johann 
Richter,  rector  of  a  school  in  Neustadt,  of  whom,  says 
the  author,  nothing  is  known  but  his  extreme  poverty 
and  piety.  Living  on  bread  and  beer,  dividing  his  blame- 
less days  between  praying  and  teaching,  he  reached 
the  age  of  seventy-six,  when  "  doubtless,"  says  Paul, 
"  through  his  higher  connections,  he  was  promoted  to  a 
place  in  the  churchyard,  —  the  Neustadt  God's  acre." 
He  continues  :  — 

"  On  his  way  thither,  —  that  is,  on  his  death-bed,  —  his  son's 
family  went  to  visit  him.  *  Let  the  aged  Jacob,'  said  an  attend- 
ant clergyman,  '  lay  his  hand  on  the  young  child  and  bless  him.' 
Accordingly,  the  infant  professor  was  handed  to  the  old  man 


JEAN  PAUL.  399 

for  his  benediction.  .  .  .  Pious  grandfather !  often  have  I  thought 
of  thy  hand  laid  upon  me,  as  it  grew  chill  in  death,  when  Fate 
has  led  me  out  of  dark  hours  into  brighter ;  and  I  dare  hold 
fast  my  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  thy  blessing,  in  a  world  pervaded, 
governed,  and  quickened  by  spirits." 

Our  poet's  father  studied  theology,  and  was  miserably 
poor  of  course.  Half  his  life  had  elapsed  before  he  ob- 
tained a  living ;  meanwhile,  his  extraordinary  talent  for 
music,  which  the  professor  thinks  was  his  true  vocation, 
had  procured  for  him  the  post  of  organist.  He  held  at 
the  same  time  the  office  of  Tertius,  —  that  is,  teacher  of 
the  third  form  in  descending  order,  in  the  gymnasium  of 
the  town. 

In  1765  he  was  called  to  the  pastorate  of  Joditz,  and 
in  that  little  village  were  passed  the  years  of  Paul's  boy- 
hood. A  small  country  village,  scarcely  more  than  a 
hamlet,  set  in  a  lone  nook  of  that  same  Fichtelgebirge,  — 
one  of  those  secluded  spots  which  challenge  your  won- 
der, by  what  accident  a  human  settlement  could  ever 
have  sprung  up  in  it.  This  out-of-the-way  corner  the 
professor  calls  his  spiritual  birthplace.  He  rejoices  that 
his  lot  was  cast  in  a  rural  one,  and  cautions  every  poet 
against  letting  himself  be  born  in  a  city,  —  the  condi- 
tions of  city  life  being,  as  he  thinks,  unfriendly  to  the 
Muse.  The  warning,  unfortunately,  came  too  late  for 
Dante,  Milton,  and  Goethe,  who  ignorantly  chose  large 
cities  for  their  birthplaces. 

The  reminiscences  of  this  Joditz  period,  extending  to 
the  author's  thirteenth  year,  are  doubly  characteristic. 
The  idiosyncrasies  of  the  man  appear  in  the  sort  of  im- 
pressions recorded  ;  the  peculiarities  of  the  writer,  in  the 
style  of  the  record.  The  narrow  economy  of  a  German 
country  parson ;  the  single  room  for  meals  and  study ; 


400  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN   CLASSICS. 

the  table,  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay,  —  writing-table 
and  family-board  ;  the  rare  and  cheap  delicacy  from 
the  neighboring  city,  through  the  express-woman,  who 
trudged  back  and  forth  on  foot  with  the  heavy  basket  on 
her  back ;  the  delight  of  the  first  ABC  book,  with  its 
gilt  covers ;  the  village  school,  where  the  first  thing  the 
loving  soul  did  was  to  fall  in  love  with  all  the  inmates, 
and  especially  the  teacher ;  subsequent  instruction  at 
home ;  the  weary  hours  spent  over  the  Latin  grammar, 
which  had  to  be  memorized,  relieved  in  one  instance  by 
the  indeclinable  cornu,  but  aggravated  by  the  exceptions 
to  the  third  declension ;  the  occasional  holiday  when  the 
father  was  absent  on  a  journey  ;  the  joy  of  summer  hours  ; 
the  annual  visit  to  the  Fair  and  the  maternal  grand- 
parents at  Hof ;  the  windfalls  from  the  muscateller  pear- 
tree;  his  first  love,  a  pock-marked  peasant  girl,  whom 
he  wooed  with  raisins,  spending  his  sole  groschen  in  the 
offering,  —  these,  and  other  experiences  of  the  author's 

childhood, 

**  The  smiles,  the  tears, 
Of  boyhood's  years," 

live  again  in  the  quaint  presentation  of  the  biographical 
lecture,  and  charm  us  with  a  charm  which  belongs  to  the 
reflection  rather  than  the  reality. 

Some  mental  experiences  the  author  evokes  from  the 
twilight  of  this  first  decade  of  his  earthly  existence, 
which  deserve  special  notice.  One  is  the  birth  of  self- 
consciousness,  a  distinct  recollection  of  the  moment 
when  he  first  appropriated  to  himself  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  pronoun  I.     He  says:  — 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  what  as  yet  I  have  told  to  no  one,  — 
a  mental  transaction  whereby  I  assisted  at  the  birth  of  my  self- 
consciousness.     I  am  able  to  name  the  place  and  the  time.     On 


JEAN  PAUL.  401 

a  forenoon,  while  yet  a  very  young  child,  I  was  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  our  house  and  looking  toward  the  woodyard,  when  all 
at  once  the  internal  vision  '  I  am  an  /'  rushed  upon  me  like  a  flash 
from  heaven,  and  since  then  has  remained  luminously  persistent. 
Then  for  the  first  time  my  /  had  seen  itself,  and  forever." 

The  other  experience  is  that  mysterious  fear  of  the 
supernatural,  which  seems  in  the  case  of  Jean  Paul  to 
have  exercised  an  exceptional  sway.  Why  is  it  that 
most  children  are  afraid  of  the  dark ;  and  in  the  dark, 
of  precisely  that  which  confessedly  has  least  power  to 
harm,  —  the  immaterial  ?  Hear  the  lecturer's  confession. 
The  children  were  sent  to  bed  in  the  winter  evenings  at 
nine  o'clock.     Little  Paul  was  his  father's  bedfellow  :  — 

"Until  he  [the  father]  below  had  finished  his  two-hours' 
night-reading,  I  was  lying  upstairs  with  my  head  under  the 
bed-clothes,  in  the  perspiration  of  ghostly  fear,  and  was  seeing 
in  the  dark  the  heat-lightning  of  the  cloudy  spirit-sky ;  and  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  man  himself  were  enmeshed  by  spirit- 
caterpillars.  Thus  every  night  I  suffered  helplessly  for  two 
hours,  until  at  last  my  father  came  up,  and  like  a  morning  sun 
chased  away  the  ghosts  as  it  were  dreams." 

Even  in  broad  day  he  was  sometimes  assailed  by  these 
ghostly  terrors.  When  there  was  a  funeral,  he  had  to 
fetch  the  father's  Bible  from  the  church  into  the  sacristy. 
Courageously  enough  he  "  went  on  the  gallop  through 
the  dim,  dumb,  listening  church  into  the  narrow  sacristy  ; 
but  [on  the  return]  who  of  us  can  picture  to  himself  the 
trembling,  shuddering  leaps  which  I  made  in  my  flight 
from  the  pursuing  ghosts  close  on  my  back,  and  the 
horror  with  which  I  bolted  through  the  church  gate  } 
And  if  one  pictures  it,  who  will  not  laugh  ?  " 

At  the  same  time,  he  tells  us,  he  was  brave  enough 
as  to  physical   dangers,  —  thunder-storms,  a  run-away 

26 


402  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

horse,  anything  visible,  tangible  ;  braver  than  boys  who 
were  inaccessible  to  ghostly  terrors.  This  he  ascribes 
to  lack  of  imagination  on  their  part,  and  excess  of  it 
on  his. 

Extreme  sensibility,  venting  itself  in  copious  tears,  — 
a  constitutional  peculiarity  of  Jean  Paul,  —  appears  in 
this  record  of  his  early  life.  On  one  occasion,  during 
his  father's  absence,  he  seizes  a  hymn-book  and  rushes 
to  the  cottage  of  a  poor,  decrepit,  bed-ridden  old  woman, 
selects  such  hymns  as  he  deems  appropriate  to  her  con- 
dition, and  begins  to  read  to  her,  but  is  soon  obliged  to 
desist,  choked  by  his  own  tears  and  sobs,  she  the  while 
philosophically  indifferent. 
/  Altogether,  it  was  a  lachrymose  age  in  German  life. 

Klopstock's  "  Messiah,"  whatever  its  other  defects,  is 
redeemed  from  the  charge  of  dryness  by  its  superabun- 
dant weepings.  Herder  was  not  "  unused  to  the  melt- 
ing mood ; "  and  when  he  and  Jean  Paul  met,  they 
flowed  together  like  twin  streams.  Was  it  self-satire 
in  the  "  Flegeljahre,"  where  Walt,  who  is  supposed  to 
represent  Jean  Paul's  own  youth,  having  met  in  his 
walk  a  celebrated  author,  and  been  kindly  noticed  by 
him,  comes  home  suffused  with  tears  ?  "  What  ails  you, 
my  boy  ? "  "  Oh,  father,  I  have  met  a  great  man." 
The  prosaic  father,  who  knows  no  greatness  but  size,  — 
"  Did  he  lick  you,  then  ?  " 

The  poetic  feeling  which  pervades  the  author's  writ- 
ings was  early  developed  in  the  boy,  when  returning 
on  a  summer's  afternoon  from  an  errand  at  Hof ,  the 
sunlit  slopes  of  the  mountains,  and  the  moving  billows 
of  the  cornfields,  and  the  flying  shadows  of  the  clouds, 
awakened  in  him  an  objectless  yearning,  —  part  joy, 
part  pain.     "  Alas  !  "  he  says,  "  it  was  the  entire  man 


JEAN  PAUL.  403 

longing  after  the  heavenly  goods  of  life  which  lay  yet 
undefined  and  colorless  in  the  deep,  wide  dark  of  the 
heart,  and  caught  a  momentary  illumination  from  the 
streaks  of  sunlight  which  fell  upon  them." 

Equally  characteristic  was  his  early  love  of  music,  to 
which  through  life  he  was  passionately  addicted,  and  in 
which  he  was  no  mean  proficient.  At  the  fair  in  Hof  he 
heard  for  the  first  time  a  military  band,  wath  drum,  fife, 
and  cymbal.  It  produced  "  in  me,  who  was  always  long- 
ing after  musical  tones,  a  real  intoxication  of  the  ear.  I 
heard,  as  the  drunken  man  sees,  everything  double  and 
flying."     He  continues  :  — 

"  I  have  often  endeavored  at  night,  before  dropping  asleep, 
—  a  time  when  imagination  most  readily  gets  hold  of  the  key- 
board of  departed  sounds,  —  to  hear  it  again.  And  how  blest 
I  am  when  I  do  hear  it !  —  so  inwardly  blest,  as  if  my  old  child- 
hood, like  a  Tithon,  become  immortal,  reappeared,  and  con- 
versed with  me  in  those  tones.  Ah,  light,  thin,  invisible 
sounds !  They  bear  and  harbor  whole  worlds  for  the  heart. 
They  are  as  souls  to  our  soul.  ...  In  the  dark  depths  of  the 
lowest  bass  roll  the  waves  of  time  past  and  gone,  while,  on  the 
contrary,  the  sharpness  of  the  highest  treble  cuts  screaming  into 
the  future,  or  summons  it  before  us." 

With  the  Joditz  pastorate,  from  which  in  1776  his 
father  was  promoted  to  that  of  Schwarzenbach-on-the- 
Saale,  end  the  idyls  of  Richter's  boyhood,  and  the 
autobiographical  lectures,  with  which,  as  self-appointed 
professor,  he  had  undertaken  the  story  of  his  life.  The 
richer  living  on  which  his  father  had  entered  was  insuf- 
ficient to  cancel  the  debts  he  had  rashly  contracted,  in 
the  hope  of  pecuniary  aid  from  his  father-in-law,  whose 
means  he  had  greatly  overrated.  Health  failed,  and  with 
failing  health   came   melancholy,  even   moroseness,  — - 


404  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

disturbing  the  peace  of  the  family,  and  casting  the  first 
shadow  which  darkened  the  life  of  his  son. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  Paul  was  placed  at  the  gym- 
nasium in  the  little  town  of  Hof,  and  two  years  later 
entered  the  University  of  Leipsic,  where  he  was  matric- 
ulated as  student  of  theology.  His  father  meanwhile 
had  died,  bequeathing  a  precious  memory  and  a  load  of 
debt,  which  his  widow  —  soon  doubly  bereaved  in  the 
loss  of  her  own  parents  —  was  unable  to  bear.  It  fol- 
lows that  the  son,  besides  a  fair  preparation  and  extraor- 
dinary ability  and  good-will,  brought  nothing  to  Leipsic 
but  an  unexceptionable  testimonium  paupertatis,  which 
it  was  hoped  would  procure  him  free  tuition  and  a  free 
table.  Admission  without  pay  to  several  courses  of  lec- 
tures, on  the  strength  of  this  certificate,  he  readily  ob- 
tained ;  but  free  board  was  not  provided.  Nor  did  he 
succeed  in  obtaining  private  pupils,  by  which  means  he 
had  hoped  to  defray  in  part  the  expenses  of  his  college 
course.  To  all  inquiry  after  such,  the  answer  was, 
Lipsia  vult  expectari,  — "  in  Leipsic  one  must  wait  for 
what  may  turn  up."  He  had  matriculated  as  a  student 
of  theology  with  a  vague  impression  that  he  behooved  to 
follow  in  his  father's  steps ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  Les- 
sing,  his  interest  in  that  study  as  a  brodstudium  —  "a 
means  of  livelihood  "  —  soon  gave  way  to  the  stronger 
attraction  of  general  literature.  As  a  matter  of  duty  he 
attended  the  lectures  of  Morus  on  Biblical  interpretation, 
and  he  listened  with  delight  to  Platner,  then  incumbent 
of  the  chair  of  philosophy,  of  whom  he  wrote  enthusias- 
tically to  his  friends.  For  the  rest,  he  occupied  himself 
chiefly  with  English  and  French  writers,  and  with  his 
own  compositions,  having  settled  with  himself  that  au- 
thorship was  his  true  vocation. 


JEAN  PAUL.  405 

Meanwhile  the  family  at  home  in  Hof  had  been  sink- 
ing deeper  and  deeper  into  helpless,  hopeless  poverty, 
until  finally  the  means  for  Paul's  maintenance  at  Leipsic 
failed  utterly,  and  he  was  forced,  with  unpaid  bills  for 
board,  to  quit  the  University,  and  to  share  the  destitu- 
tion of  the  wretched  lodge  to  which  his  mother  had  been 
reduced,  —  there,  if  possible,  to  earn  something  by  his 
writing,  for  her  and  his  brother's  support. 

He  was  not  in  those  years  a  favorite  in  Hof.  Apart 
from  the  disgrace  —  for  such  it  was  considered  —  of  the 
fallen  fortunes  of  the  Richter  family,  the  youth  had  ren- 
dered himself  obnoxious  to  public  sentiment  by  odd  be- 
havior, especially  in  the  matter  of  dress,  in  which  he 
had  dared  to  affront  the  conventional  requirements  of 
his  time.  To  avoid  the  expense  of  the  hair-dresser,  —  a 
serious  tax  in  those  days  of  queues,  curls,  and  powder, 
—  and  the  tedium  of  the  daily  frisure^  he  had  had  his 
hair  cropped,  and  presented  himself  in  that  guise  to  the 
censuring  gaze  of  a  frizzed  and  queued  generation.  For 
similar  reasons  of  economy  and  convenience,  he  had 
thrown  away  necktie  and  waistcoat,  exposing  his  uncov- 
ered throat  and  chest.  What  favor  or  aid  could  such 
indecency  expect  from  grave,  cravated,  and  buttoned-up 
burghers  ?  No  man  may,  in  externals,  offend  with  im- 
punity the  taste  of  his  time.  Paul  seems  to  have  dis- 
covered at  last  that  making  enemies  was  not  the  way  to 
succeed  in  life,  —  that  the  having  his  own  way  was 
hardly  worth  the  fighting  which  it  cost  to  maintain  it. 
Any  way,  he  wearied  of  his  singularity,  and  announced 
in  a  circular  sent  to  his  friends  his  intention  of  return- 
ing, as  to  head-dress  at  least,  to  the  ways  of  the  world. 
Here  is  Carlyle's  excellent  rendering  of  this  well-known 
and  characteristic  document :  — 


406  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"  Advertisement. 

"  The  undersigned  begs  to  give  notice,  that,  whereas  cropped 
hair  has  as  many  enemies  as  red  hair,  and  said  enemies  of  the 
hair  are  enemies  likewise  of  the  person  it  grows  on  ;  whereas, 
further,  such  a  fashion  is  in  no  respect  Christian,  since  other- 
wise Christian  persons  would  practise  it ;  and  whereas,  espe- 
cially, the  undersigned  has  suffered  no  less  from  his  hair  than 
Absalom  did  from  his,  although  on  contrary  grounds ;  and 
whereas,  it  has  been  notified  that  the  public  purposed  to  send 
him  to  his  grave,  since  the  hair  grows  there  without  scissors,  — 
he  hereby  gives  notice  that  he  will  not  push  matters  to  such 
extremity.  Be  it  known,  therefore,  to  the  nobility,  gentry,  and 
a  discerning  public  in  general,  that  the  undersigned  proposes  on 
Sunday  next  to  appear  in  various  important  streets  [of  HofJ 
with  a  short  false  queue  ;  and  with  this  queue,  as  with  a  mag- 
net and  cord-of-love  and  magic-rod,  to  possess  himself  forcibly 
of  the  affections  of  all  and  sundry,  be  they  who  they  may." 

Before  leaving  Leipsic,  Richter  had  made,  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  his  first  literary  venture,  —  a  volume  of  sa- 
tirical sketches  with  the  title  "  Greenland  Lawsuits " 
(^Grronlandische  Prozesse).  Refused  by  the  booksellers 
of  Leipsic,  it  was  accepted  and  published  by  Voss  in  Ber- 
lin, who  gave  the  author  fifty  odd  dollars  for  his  work. 
A  second  series  of  these  satires  brought  him  from  the 
same  publisher  double  the  sum.  But  the  book  did  not 
sell,  and  a  third  series  was  declined.  The  extracts  from 
the  "  Devil's  Papers  "  and  the  "  Diversions  beneath  the 
Skull  of  a  Giantess "  met  with  no  better  fate.  Ten 
years  elapsed  before  the  brave  scholar,  who  had  wedded 
himself  to  literature  for  better  or  worse  and  still  persisted 
to  write,  again  produced  a  book  which  put  money  in  his 
purse.  His  mother,  the  minister's  widow,  —  who  es- 
teemed the  preacher's  work  the  greatest  in  the  world,  — 


JEAN  PAUL.  407 

elated  by  the  money  received  for  that  first  publication, 
thought  that  her  son  who  could  write  a  book  might 
with  diligence  also  attain  to  writing  even  sermons,  and 
she  endeavored  to  lead  his  ambition  in  that  direction. 
"  Sermons ! "  quoth  Paul ;  "  do  you  think  it  such  a  great 
thing  to  write  sermons  ?  I  could  write  one  in  my  sleep. 
But  a  book  like  that,  —  do  you  suppose  there  is  a  minis- 
ter in  Hof  who  could  even  understand,  to  say  nothing  of 
writing,  it  ?  " 

Sad  years  they  were  for  Richter,  sad  and  hungry 
years,  which  followed  his  return  from  the  University. 
Laboring  in  his  mother's  cottage,  in  the  one  room  which 
served  for  parlor,  kitchen,  and  study,  —  laboring  amid 
the  din  of  household  operations,  fasting  often,  with  sel- 
dom a  full  meal,  he  fought  the  hard  fight  with  want  and 
neglect,  never,  at  the  worst,  losing  faith  in  his  final 
success. 

In  1790,  having  first  tried  private  tutoring  at  Topen 
with  unpleasant  results,  and  declining  new  offers  in  that 
line,  he  removed  to  Schwarzenbach,  a  town  about  five 
miles  from  Hof,  to  take  charge  of  a  school  which  had 
been  gathered  for  him,  consisting  mostly  of  the  children 
of  his  friends.  Before  starting,  he  was  forced  to  borrow 
money  of  his  friend  Otto  to  replenish  his  wardrobe.  He 
had  taken  an  inventory,  he  said,  of  his  property,  feudal 
and  allodial ;  it  read  thus :  "  boots,  stockings,  handker- 
chiefs, and  two  copper  coins ;  "  but  in  this  list  numbers 
1,  2,  3  and  4  were  wanting. 

His  school  was  managed  on  the  principle  of  avoiding 
all  that  had  been  amiss  and  painful  in  his  own  educa- 
tion ;  no  lumbering  of  the  memory,  but  much  cultivating 
of  the  perceptive  faculty,  and  much  eliciting  of  original 
thought.     The  plan  is   given  in  the  "Levana,"  —  his 


408  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

essay  on  education.  He  kept  a  note-book  of  the  sayings 
of  his  pupils,  whose  ages  ranged  from  seven  to  fifteen. 
Some  of  them  are  quite  remarkable,  and  remind  one 
who  has  read  it  of  the  Record  of  a  School  taught  by 
Mr.  Alcott,  in  Boston,  some  forty  years  since. 

But  now  the  poet's  trial-years  of  want  and  pecuniary 
distress  were  to  end,  and  a  new  day  to  dawn  upon  his 
lot.  Weak  natures  are  soured  by  adversity  ;  strong  ones, 
like  Richter's,  are  exalted  and  ennobled  by  it.  He  aban- 
doned satire,  for  which  he  had  talent  indeed,  but  no 
moral  vocation.  Hard  experience  and  better  knowledge 
of  human  kind  had  softened  his  temper,  refined  his  feel- 
ings, enlarged  his  views,  and  deepened  his  sense  of  the 
meaning  of  life.  By  such  discipline  he  was  led  to  write 
stories,  which,  while  they  embodied  the  results  of  his 
observation,  embodied  also  his  moral  convictions  and 
aspirations,  and  brought  to  light  the  deep  poetry  and 
heroism  of  his  nature. 

The  turning-point  in  his  fortunes  was  a  novel,  designed 
to  represent  the  influence  on  different  natures  of  certain 
modes  of  education,  —  a  work  which  has  been  likened  to 
Rousseau's  "  Emil,"  entitled,  with  but  faint  relation  to 
the  contents.  Die  unsichtbare  Loge^  —  *'  The  Invisible 
Lodge  ;  or  Box  in  a  Theatre,"  as  if  one  should  say  ''  Life 
seen  by  an  Invisible  Spectator."  The  manuscript  of  this 
he  sent,  by  a  happy  instinct,  to  Hofrath  Moritz  in  Ber- 
lin, a  man  known  to  him  only  as  the  author  of  a  work  in 
which  Richter  discerned,  as  he  thought,  a  kindred  spirit. 
It  is  not  a  very  welcome  missive  to  a  busy  man,  —  a 
bulky  manuscript  volume  from  an  unknown  person, 
accompanied  with  the  request  that  you  will  read  it. 

Moritz  was  tempted  to  do  as  most  men  would  have 
done,  —  to  find  some  pretext  for  declining  the  task ;  but 


JEAN  PAUL.  409 

glancing  at  the  first  page,  he  was  so  impressed  with  the 
quaint  original  style  that  he  read  on  and  still  on,  saying 
to  himself  as  he  read,  '*  Why,  this  beats  Wieland,  —  it 
beats  Goethe !  Who  can  the  author  be  ? "  For  Richter 
had  not  given  his  name,  but  a  pseudonym.  The  end  of 
it  was  a  letter  to  the  prescribed  address  at  Hof ,  in  which 
the  writer  poured  forth  his  enthusiasm  without  stint : 

"  If  you  were  at  the  end  of  the  earth,  I  would  fly  into  your 
arms,  though  I  should  encounter  a  hundred  tempests  to  get  to 
you.  Where  do  you  live  ?  What  is  your  name  ?  Who  are 
you  ?  Your  work  is  a  jewel !  I  shall  know  no  rest  until  its 
author  reveals  himself  more  fully." 

And  the  author  did  reveal  himself.  In  his  previous 
works  he  had  written  anonymously  ;  but  now  he  took 
the  thenceforth  famous  name  of  Jean  Paul. 

No  happier  moment  "•  in  all  his  noon  of  fame  "  would 
Jean  Paul  know  than  that  in  which  he  poured  into  his 
worn  mother's  lap  a  handful  of  gold,  —  the  first  instal- 
ment of  the  hundred  ducats  which  the  publisher  gave 
for  "  The  Invisible  Lodge." 

His  next  work,  "  Hesperus,"  which  appeared  in  1794, 
not  only  deepened  the  impression  which  "  The  Invisible 
Lodge  "  had  made  on  the  few  whom  it  reached,  but 
greatly  extended  the  circle  of  his  readers  and  admirers, 
in  fact,  conquered  to  itself  the  reading  public  of  Ger- 
many, and  lifted  its  author  at  once  to  a  seat  in  the  lit- 
erary pantheon  of  his  nation. 

The  pay,  in  cash,  which  the  author  received  from  the 
publisher  for  even  the  "  Hesperus  "  was  paltry  ;  but  the 
moral  compensation  was  all  and  more  than  he  could 
reasonably  expect.  Earely  has  a  writer  passed  so  sud- 
denly from   deep   obscurity  into   broad   refulgent   day. 


410  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Letters  from  all  parts  of  the  land,  and  from  all  sorts  of 
persons,  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  were  poured  in 
upon  him,  all  gushing  with  gratitude,  admiration,  joy ; 
needy  schoolmasters,  in  retired  villages,  begging  but  for 
the  loan  of  one  of  his  books ;  ladies  of  distinction,  like 
Sophie  La  Roche,  soliciting  his  friendship ;  occasionally 
one  charged  with  more  substantial  demonstrations  of 
good-will ;  among  others  an  anonymous  one,  afterwards 
known  to  be  from  old  Gleim  in  Halberstadt,  himself 
an  author,  and  addicted  to  poetry  not  of  the  very  best, 
more  illustrious  by  his  generous  patronage  of  genius 
struggling  with  poverty  than  by  his  verses,  which  how- 
ever have  survived.  The  letter  was  accompanied  by  a 
gift  of  fifty  dollars,  —  equal  to  two  hundred  of  our  more 
abundant  and  more  luxurious  times.  The  giver  signed 
himself,  borrowing  a  name  from  one  of  Jean  Paul's  he- 
roes, Septimus  ^  Fixlein.     He  wrote  :  — 

ScHERAU,  May  23,  1796. 
You  are  said  to  be  poor,  dear  Herr  Richter,  —  you,  an  in- 
tellectual millionnaire.  Such  millionnaires  are  commonly  poor, 
and  it  is  well  that  they  are  so,  for  the  other  sort  write  no 
books ;  therefore  I  suppose  it  to  be  your  case.  And  because 
your  books  give  me  pleasure, — much  pleasure,  and  nothing 
but  pleasure,  —  I  consider  it  my  duty,  dear  Herr  Richter,  to 
give  you  also  a  little  pleasure  by  showing  you  that  your  read- 
ers are  grateful.  They  are  all  grateful,  but  most  of  them  can- 
not show  their  gratitude.  And  that  too  is  all  right ;  else, 
dear  Herr  Richter,  you  would  be  rich,  and  would  write  no  more 
books.  The  greetings  of  a  grateful  one  to  your  Christian  and 
your  Clotilde  [characters  portrayed  by  Jean  Paul],  and  be  you 
as  magnanimous  as  he  is  grateful. 

Your  most  devoted  servant, 

Septimus  Fixlein. 

1  It  should  have  been  Quintus. 


JEAN  PAUL.  411 

A  nature  less  firm  and  right  principled  than  Richter's 
might  have  been  intoxicated  and  thrown  from  its  bal- 
ance by  these  unexpected  and  enthusiastic  demonstra- 
tions of  popularity,  which  seemed  to  place  him  in  the 
fore-front  of  the  literary  world  of  his  time.  In  particu- 
lar, the  advances  of  sentimental  women,  who  courted 
his  acquaintance,  would  have  proved  dangerous  to  a  man 
whose  ideal  of  womanhood  was  less  exalted,  and  whose 
moral  purity  was  less  assured,  and  who  did  not,  with 
great  susceptibility  to  feminine  attractions  and  feminine 
influence,  unite  a  maidenly  soul.  The  urgent  attentions 
of  Madam  von  Kalb,  a  lady  of  culture  and  rank,  prac- 
tically but  not  legally  divorced  from  a  husband  who 
slighted  her,  might  have  been  interpreted  as  inviting  a 
liaison;  the  rather  that  her  frankly  avowed  principles 
were  not  averse  to  such  connections.  From  Richter 
they  elicited  only  admiration  of  her  gifts,  and  gratitude 
for  the  aid  which  she  rendered  him  in  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  celebrities  of  Weimar,  where  he  spent 
three  weeks  of  ecstatic  enjoyment.  There,  at  length,  he 
met  Herder,  for  whom  his  soul  had  yearned  so  long,  and 
who  remained  to  the  last  the  Jupiter  of  his  pantheon, 
as  Herder's  noble  wife  was  its  Juno.  There  he  met 
Goethe,  of  whom  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Otto  that "  his 
eyes  were  flames,"  and  his  reading  "  but  a  deeper  sort 
of  thunder,  with  soft  rain-whisper  between." 

Altogether,  there  seems  to  have  been  something  magi- 
cal, inexplicable,  daemonic  in  the  fascination  which  Rich- 
ter unintentionally  exercised  upon  women.  Attracted  to 
him  in  the  first  instance  by  his  writings,  they  sought  his 
correspondence,  craved  his  acquaintance,  and  when  they 
encountered  him  face  to  face  were  ready  captives  to  the 
charm  of  his  voice,  and  to  that  smile  which  Madam  von 


.412  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Kalb  forbade  as  being  quite  too  dangerous.  Social  rank 
in  Germany,  at  that  time  so  despotic,  was  not  so  much 
waived  as  forgotten  in  his  favor.  Baroness  Kriidener, 
afterward  famous  as  a  pietist  and  revivalist,  sought  him 
out  in  his  lowly  lodgings  in  Hof.  Josephine  von  Sydon, 
an  unknown  worshipper,  invites  him  to  Berlin.  With 
Fraulein  von  F.  he  is  on  the  point  of  betrothal,  when  a 
sudden  scruple  on  his  part  intervenes.  Emilie  von 
Berlepsch,  who  begins  with  Platonic  attachment,  loving 
him  more,  she  says,  with  the  fancy  than  with  the  heart, 
ends  with  hsemoptisis  and  swooning  because  he  does 
not  love  her  well  enough  to  marry  her,  which  in  pity  he 
finally  resolves  to  do,  —  but  after  all,  stops  on  the  verge 
of  the  sacrifice,  still  however  retaining  her  friendship, 
having  somehow  satisfied  her  that  their  union  could  not 
be  a  happy  one.  Poor  Maria  Forster  went  mad  for  love 
of  him,  and  not  allowed  to  visit  him,  drowned  herself  in 
the  Rhine.i 

In  Berlin,  —  whither  he  went  in  1800,  and  where  his 
fame  preceding  him  procured  for  the  literary  lion  of  the 
day  admission  into  all  the  best  circles,  both  literary  and 
courtly ;  where  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  the  beautiful  and 
unfortunate  Luise,  invited  him  to  dinner  at  Sans  Souci, — 
in  Berlin  the  tumult  which  he  raised  among  feminine  ad- 
mirers may  be  inferred  from  a  casual  remark  in  a  letter 
to  his  friend  Otto,  in  which  he  says  that  so  much  of  his 
hair  has  been  begged  of  him,  that  if  he  were  disposed  to 
trade  in  it  he  could  make  as  much  money  by  the  outside 
of  his  head  as  by  the  inside.  Embarrassing  such  adora- 
tion must  have  been,  seeing  that  the  man  at  the  age  of 
thirty-seven  was  already  bald.  Here  in  Berlin  at  last,  after 
so  many  transient  and  fruitless  attachments,  he  found  the 

1  This  was  after  his  marriage. 


JEAN  PAUL,  413 

woman  who  satisfied  all  his  matrimonial  requirements 
and  completely  filled  his  heart.  He  had  often  declared 
that  he  could  dispense  with  beauty  of  person  in  a  wife, 
but  not  with  beauty  of  soul.  In  Caroline,  daughter  of  the 
privy  counsellor  Maier,  he  found  both,  —  a  maiden  well 
born,  highly  cultured  but  not  rich,  used  on  the  contrary 
to  make  the  most  of  small  means,  one  who  could  read 
Plato  in  the  original  and  make  her  own  dresses  and 
dye  and  turn  them,  when  on  the  eve  of  a  ball  the  privy 
counsellor's  salary  would  not  afford  the  expense  of  a 
new  one.  She  was  fitted,  intellectually  and  practically, 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  genius,  especially  of  one  whose  ideal 
was  so  high  and  whose  fortunes  so  lowly  as  those  of 
Richter.  Her  intelligence  could  sympathize  with  his 
loftiest  imaginings,  while  her  prudence  and  savoir  faire 
were  equal  to  all  the  necessities  of  their  straitened 
economy. 

They  were  wedded  in  private,  in  May  of  1801,  and  im- 
mediately set  out  for  Weimar.  Jean  Paul  could  not 
consider  himself  fairly  married  until  the  Herders  had 
approved  the  bride  and  blessed  the  union.  After  trying 
several  cities  in  different  parts  of  Germany  with  a  view 
to  permanent  residence,  they  finally,  in  1804,  fixed  on 
Baireuth  in  upper  Bavaria  as  their  life-long  home.  Its 
attraction  for  Richter  was  its  nearness  to  Hof ,  the  abode 
of  his  dearest  friends  ;  his  predilection  also  was  for  that 
part  of  the  country  whose  features  were  associated  with 
the  deepest  experiences  of  his  life. 

Here  he  spent  the  remainder  of  his  days,  of  which  nigh 
on  two  thirds  had  already  elapsed,  in  peaceful  activity, 
enjoying  the  reputation  so  bravely  won  and  the  wide  ac- 
ceptance of  his  works ;  enjoying  still  more  the  production 
of  new  ones.     By  choice  Richter  was  an  indefatigable 


414  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

writer ;  but  even  if  choice  had  not  so  inclined,  and  had 
not  the  force  of  genius  impelled  to  labor,  necessity  would 
not  have  allowed  him  to  rest.  Pecuniary  ease,  material 
independence,  he  never  knew.  Though  relieved  from  the 
pressure  of  actual  want,  no  longer  menaced  as  in  early 
life  by  the  wolf  at  the  door,  he  was  poor  to  the  last. 
His  literary  earnings  were  barely  sufficient  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  family ;  and  in  the  early  years  of  the 
century,  when  Germany  lay  paralyzed  in  the  grasp  of 
Napoleon,  when  all  trades  languished,  and  the  booksel- 
ler's business  in  particular  was  almost  at  a  stand-still, 
his  income  as  a  writer  would  not  have  covered  the  neces- 
sary expenses  of  his  household,  had  it  not  been  supple- 
mented by  a  modest  pension  of  four  hundred  dollars 
annually,  secured  to  him  by  the  generosity,  while  in 
office,  of  Prince  Dalberg,  and  afterward  assumed  by  the 
King  of  Bavaria. 

In  1817,  on  a  visit  to  Heidelberg,  he  was  compli- 
mented by  the  University  of  that  city  with  the  academic 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.  He  enjoyed  this  as  he 
did  other  distinctions, — less  for  the  honor's  sake  than 
as  proof  of  the  esteem  and  good-will  of  his  fellow-men. 

Hitherto,  in  spite  of  the  hardships  and  privations  of 
his  youth,  —  thanks  to  his  buoyant  spirit  and  strong, 
courageous,  loving  soul,  —  the  life  of  Richter  had  been 
on  the  whole  a  happy  one.  But  now,  in  his  fifty-ninth 
year,  a  great  calamity,  the  first  immedicable  sorrow  of 
his  life,  befell  him  in  the  death  of  his  only  son.  The 
youth,  who  inherited  his  father's  idealism  and  aspira- 
tions without  his  robust  understanding  and  joyous  tem- 
perament, fell  a  victim,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  to  morbid 
conscientiousness,  inducing  ascetic  abstention  in  the  mat- 
ter of  diet,  and  aggravated  by  religious  irritation.     Sent 


JEAN  PAUL.  415 

to  the  gymnasium  at  Munich  at  the  age  of  seventeen, 
anxiety  to  realize  his  father's  ambitious  hopes  and  to 
spare  his  father's  pocket,  caused  him  to  combine  a  max- 
imum of  mental  labor  with  a  minimum  of  bodily  com- 
fort. Afterward,  at  the  University  of  Heidelberg,  he 
came  under  the  influence  of  Kanne  and  other  pietists, 
and  began  to  entertain  extravagant  notions  of  his  own 
worthlessness,  and  to  fancy  that  the  only  way  to  the 
excellence  to  which  he  aspired  lay  through  bodily  mor- 
tification. He  conceived  himself  morally  bound  to  equal 
his  father  as  a  literary  genius,  and  attributed  his  infe- 
riority in  that  kind  to  moral  defects,  which  must  be 
corrected  by  severe  self-denial,  while  with  redoubled 
diligence  he  applied  himself  to  intellectual  labor.  By 
starving  and  plodding  he  would  wring  from  himself 
what  Nature  had  denied.  He  attended  the  lectures  of 
Hegel,  then  professor  of  philosophy  at  Heidelberg,  and 
was  worried  by  his  inability  to  comprehend  the  subtle- 
ties of  that  renowned  dialectician,  who  would  solve  the 
problem  of  the  universe  by  a  trick  of  logic.  This  too  was 
laid  to  the  charge  of  his  own  worthlessness,  and  deepened 
his  despair.  In  vain  his  father  wrote  to  him  to  eat  more 
and  study  less,  and  to  let  go  Hegel,  who,  though  confes- 
sedly the  most  acute  of  modern  philosophers,  was  none 
the  less  *'  a  dialectic  vampire  of  the  inner  man." 

Thus  fretted  by  self-depreciation  and  the  sense  of  an 
unattained,  unattainable  ideal  on  the  one  hand,  and  ex- 
hausted by  excess  of  abstinence  on  the  other,  what  won- 
der that  the  young  man's  health  gave  way !  Once  so 
strong  and  blooming,  and  every  way  promising,  he  came 
home  to  Baireuth  for  the  summer  holidays  a  wreck  in 
body  and  mind,  was  attacked  with  brain  fever,  and  after 
a  brief  illness  died  in  September,  1821,  —  a  signal  illus- 


416  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

tration  of  that  noteworthy  saying  of  Novalis,  that  "  the 
soul  is  the  most  active  of  poisons." 

It  was  a  blow  from  the  shock  of  which  the  affection- 
ate father  never  recovered.  It  struck  to  the  root  of  his 
life.  He  might  possibly  take  to  himself  some  blame  in 
the  matter,  for  had  he  not  unwittingly  prepared  the  way 
for  this  sacrifice  by  a  system  of  education  which  led  the 
too  conscientious  youth  to  suppose  that  the  great  end  of 
life  is  literary  eminence  ? 

The  remaining  four  years  of  Richter's  life  were  years 
of  labor  and  sorrow,  although  but  three-score  instead  of 
the  three-score-and-ten  of  Biblical  allowance  had  been 
numbered ;  years  not  unblessed  with  that  which  should 
accompany  old  age,  but  overshadowed,  morally  and  phy- 
sically, with  a  darkness  swift  deepening  into  funereal 
night,  —  morally  by  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  beloved  Max, 
and  physically  by  loss  of  his  eye-sight  through  excessive 
weeping  over  that  loss,  —  tears  which  fixed  belief  in  a 
life  to  come  and  heavenly  reunion  failed  to  check  ;  tears 
which  ceased  not  to  flow  while  even  his  pen  was  inditing 
comic  fancies  for  the  entertainment  of  his  readers.  He 
continued  to  work  on  his  unfinished  novel,  —  "  Nicholas 
Margraf ;  or,  the  Comet,"  —  and  on  other  unfinished 
writings  ;  and  meanwhile  began  a  new  work,  the  idea 
of  which  was  suggested,  or  recalled,  by  the  death  of  his 
son,  —  a  work  on  Immortality,  his  "  Selina,"  — of  which 
he  lived  to  complete  but  eight  chapters. 

In  1825  his  failing  eye-sight  failed  utterly  ;  darkness 
shut  down  on  him,  made  more  afflictive  by  the  wreck 
of  his  bodily  health.  Both  calamities  had  been  hastened 
by  his  own  medical  dilettanteism, — by  optical  and  dietetic 
experimenting.  Every  week  new  glasses,  new  wines, 
new  regime.     His  nephew,  Otto  Spazier,  whom  he  had 


JEAN  PAUL.  417 

summoned  from  Dresden  to  be  his  amanuensis,  and  to 
aid  him  in  preparing  a  final  edition  of  his  works,  finds 
him,  the  vigorous  man  of  but  five  years  previous,  who 
was  wont  to  write  in  the  open  air  in  winter  with  only  a 
board  to  protect  his  feet  from  the  snow,  now  wrapped 
in  furs,  lying  on  the  sofa,  shrunken,  collapsed,  physi- 
cally a  ruin,  yet  with  intellect  still  clear,  memory  true, 
and  mental  vigor  unabated.  But  the  power  of  the 
spirit  over  the  flesh  in  the  body's  downfall  is  limited. 
After  a  few  week's  labor  with  his  young  help-mate  the 
machine  gave  out,  —  the  wheel  was  broken  at  the  cis- 
tern. One  evening  the  rest  to  which  he  had  betaken 
himself  for  the  night  passed  gently  into  the  sleep  whose 
waking  is  not  of  this  world.  A  lady  friend  had  sent 
him  a  bunch  of  flowers,  which  he  tenderly  fingered  while 
inhaling  their  perfume.  They  recalled  the  darlings  of 
his  own  garden.  "  Oh,  my  beautiful  flowers  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed ;  they  were  his  last  words.  It  was  the  14th  of 
November,  1825. 

His  fellow-citizens  vied  with  each  other  in  demonstra- 
tions of  respect  on  the  night  of  his  obsequies  ;  the  mu- 
nicipal authorities,  headed  by  tlie  royal  functionary. 
Yon  Welten,  followed  the  body  to  the  grave.  The 
Catholic  pastor  Oesterreich  joined  the  train,  in  friendly 
concord  with  the  Protestant  clergy  of  the  city,  having 
himself  arranged  some  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  occa- 
sion. At  his  suggestion,  the  scholars  of  the  gymnasium 
formed  a  part  of  tlie  procession,  bearing  torches,  and  on 
velvet  cushions  copies  of  the  author's  "  Levana "  and 
the  "Aesthetik."  The  manuscript  of  the  unfinished 
"  Selina,"  and  beside  it  a  laurel  wreath,  lay  on  the 
coffin.  In  the  church,  after  select  and  appropriate  mu- 
sic, instead  of  the  customary  funeral  sermon,  was  read 

27 


418  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  beautiful  passage  concerning  Christ  from  Richter'g 
essay  on  "  God  in  History."  Fitting  eulogies  by  those 
who  had  a  right  to  speak  were  spoken  at  the  grave,  the 
body  was  lowered,  placed  beside  that  of  his  son,  and 
then  the  torches  were  extinguished,  —  fit  symbol  of  a 
cherished  light  put  out. 

We  may  say  of  Richter  what  he  said  of  himself,  that  he 
had  made  of  himself  all  that  the  stuff  would  allow.  What 
more  can  be  said  of  the  best  ? 

As  a  man,  Jean  Paul  was  eminent  in  all  the  qualities 
which  command  respect  and  attract  good-will.  There 
was  in  him,  and  went  out  of  him,  a  power  of  love  which 
conquered  hardness  and  compelled  return.  Never  had 
poet  more  devoted  friends,  or  reciprocated  friendship  with 
truer  devotion.  His  friendships  were  not  bounded  by 
human  kind  ;  the  brute  creation  came  in  for  a  share  of 
his  affections.  He  surrounded  himself  with  dumb  pets 
as  it  were  the  necessaries  of  life.  A  favorite  poodle  ac- 
companied him  in  all  his  journeyings,  and  must  not  be 
excluded  from  any  house  where  he  visited.  *'  Love  me, 
love  my  dog."  His  birds  hopped  over  the  page  on  which 
he  was  writing,  he  waiting  the  while  with  suspended 
pen  and  continuing  patience  until  they  should  pass.  A 
tame  squirrel  sat  upon  his  shoulder  in  his  walks  about 
town ;  and  once,  at  the  christening  of  a  friend's  child, 
where  Jean  Paul  was  to  stand  god-father,  having  for- 
gotten to  leave  the  creature  behind,  he  was  obliged  to 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  with  difficulty  prevented  its 
escape  with  his  left,  while  with  right  hand  and  arm  he 
held  the  babe. 

I  have  spoken  of  Richter's  peculiarities  of  style,  his  ex- 
uberant fancy,  liis  grotesque  imagery,  his  wild  rhetoric, 


JEAN  PAUL.  419 

attracting  or  repelling,  as  I  said,  according  to  the  taste 
of  the  reader.  Noticeable  in  his  novels  is  the  want  of 
method  and  a  rational  plot.  We  miss  the  progressive 
unfolding  of  a  theme,  the  onward  movement,  the  charm 
of  expectation,  the  cumulative  interest,  the  fit  conclu- 
sion. The  author  writes  like  one  who  enters  on  a  jour- 
ney v^th  no  determined  goal  in  view  ;  or  who,  having 
one,  forgets  it  in  adventures  by  the  way,  in  the  pleasant 
company  he  falls  in  with,  and  strays  into  endless  epi- 
sodes. Or,  to  vary  the  comparison,  he  is  a  dramatist 
who  crow^ds  his  stage  with  characters  that  come  and  go 
and  exhibit  their  peculiarities.  Scene  succeeds  scene  ; 
we  enjoy  them  in  turn,  but  by  and  by  discover  that  we 
are  not  getting  on,  that  character  and  scene  have  no 
relation  to  any  central  aim.  We  wait  the  denouement  : 
there  is  none,  or  a  forced  one,  a  makeshift ;  and  when 
at  last  the  curtain  falls,  it  is  not  because  a  definite  plan 
has  been  fulfilled,  but  simply  because  the  play  cannot 
go  on  forever. 

Jean  Paul  is  not  merely  a  writer  of  fiction,  but  a 
philosophic  essayist  as  well.  His  work  on  education, 
the  "  Levana ; "  that  on  the  principles  of  literary  com- 
position, the  "  Vorschule  der  Aesthetik  ; "  the  unfinished 
work  on  immortality,  entitled  "  Selina,"  —  show  him  a 
profound  thinker  and  sagacious  critic.  They  present 
a  more  adequate  idea  of  the  man  than  the  "  Titan,"  on 
which  he  supposed  that  his  fame  as  an  author  would 
finally  rest.  These  works  abound  in  precious  thoughts 
and  luminous  suggestions  ;  but  we  have  to  regret  that 
in  these  and  all  his  writings  the  style  is  so  mannerized, 
so  choked  with  verbal  conceits  on  the  one  hand,  so 
unnaturally  compressed  on  the  other,  that  the  wealth 
of  wisdom   contained   in  them   is   lost  to   many,  and 


420  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

especially  foreigners,  by  reason  of  the  crabbed  and 
deterrent  rhetoric,  —  the  dragon  which  guards  the  hid- 
den treasure. 

When  I  say  that  his  philosophical  writings  best  reveal 
the  man,  I  am  thinking  of  the  serious  side  of  his  nature. 
But  Jean  Paul  was  a  born  humorist ;  the  comic  side  of 
him  is  the  one  the  most  noted,  if  not  the  most  character- 
istic. He  began  with  satire  ;  but  for  that  he  had  no  vo- 
cation, and  never  really  prospered  in  it,  —  there  wanted 
the  vitriol  in  his  blood,  and  there  wanted  the  ice-brook's 
temper  in  his  wit.  Not  great  as  a  satirist,  not  distin- 
guished as  a  wit,  but  in  the  two  opposites  of  frolic  humor 
and  soul-subduing  pathos,  in  comic  fancy  and  towering 
grandeur  of  imagination,  alike  pre-eminent ;  a  very 
Shakspeare  in  opulence  of  mind,  but  without  the  plastic 
cunning  and  without  the  voice  of  song. 

Of  his  graver  novels,  the  "  Titan  "  is  the  most  elabo- 
rate, and  the  one  which  he  regarded  as  his  masterpiece. 
The  "  Hesperus,"  the  "  Siebenkas,"  the  "  Unsichtbare 
Loge  "  are  equally  good  in  parts,  but  less  comprehensive 
in  their  scope  and  less  complete  in  execution.  Chief 
among  the  comic  are  the  "  Flegeljahre,"  "  Quintus 
Fixlein,"  the  "Life  of  Fibel,"  and  " Katzenberger's 
Badereise." 

"  The  Invisible  Lodge  "  is  one  of  the  crudest  of  the 
author's  works,  but  contains  some  of  his  most  striking 
conceits.  The  hero,  Gustav,  in  accordance  with  a  whim 
of  his  parents,  is  confined  in  a  subterranean  dwelling 
during  the  first  eight  years  of  his  life,  in  order  that  he 
may  not  become  callous  to  the  beauties  of  Nature  by 
early  use.  He  is  to  be  introduced  to  them  suddenly  on 
his  ninth  birthday,  which  falls  on  the  first  of  June,  when 


JEAN  PAUL.  421 

the  earth  is  apparelled  in  its  brightest  raiment,  that  so 
the  splendor  of  the  universe,  concealed  until  then,  may 
overwhelm  him  with  surprise  and  make  an  indelible 
impression.  A  tutor  who  enters  heartily  into  the  scheme, 
a  wise  educator  who  is  called  the  boy's  "  genius,"  has 
been  provided  for  these  early  years.  When  the  time 
arrives,  Gustav  is  told  by  his  genius  that  he  is  to  die 
and  ascend  to  heaven,  —  so  the  world  above  ground  is 
figured  to  him.  He  is  prepared  for  his  ascension  by 
hearing  for  the  first  time  a  strain  of  music.  The  author 
exclaims :  — 

"  O  Music !  echo  of  a  far-off  world  of  harmony !  sigh  of  the 
angel  within  us !  When  language  fails  and  the  eye  and  em- 
braces are  denied,  and  our  hearts  lie  mute  and  lonely  behind 
the  grating  of  the  breast,  it  is  th6u  by  whose  mediation  they 
call  to  each  other  from  their  prisons  and  mingle  their  distant 
sighs  in  the  desert.  ...  As  in  real  death,  the  Genius  in  this 
mock  death  drew  his  pupil  toward  heaven  by  the  ladder  of 
sense.  He  made  the  apparent  death  beautiful  to  the  advantage 
of  the  actual,  so  that  when  Gustav  dies  it  will  be  with  a  rapture 
unknown  to  us." 

The  chapter  which  describes  the  child's  emerging  into 
daylight  is  entitled  "  The  Resurrection."     It  begins,  — 

"  There  are  four  priests  who  stand  in  the  wide  cathedral  of 
Nature  and  sacrifice  at  God's  altars,  the  hills,  —  ice-gray  Winter 
with  his  snowy  surplice ;  ingathering  Autumn  with  harvests 
under  his  arm,  which  he  lays  upon  the  altar  of  God,  and  which 
man  may  take  thence ;  Summer,  the  fiery  youth  who  labors 
into  the  night  to  sacrifice ;  and  Spring,  the  child,  with  his 
white  church-decoration  of  flowers  and  blossoms,  which,  child- 
like, he  spreads  before  the  sublime  Spirit,  and  whose  prayers 
are  joined  in  by  all  who  hear  him.  For  the  children  of  men, 
Spring  is  the  fairest  priest. 


422  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"This  flower-priest  was  the  first  whom  Gustav  saw  at  the 
altar.  Before  sunrise,  on  the  first  of  June,  the  Genius  knelt 
silently  beside  him,  and  prayed  with  his  eyes  and  with  dumb, 
trembling  lips  a  prayer  for  Gustav,  —  a  prayer  which  spread  its 
wings  over  all  the  venture  of  his  life.  A  flute  above  ground 
sounded  its  fond,  loving  call.  '  We  are  summoned,'  said  the 
Genius,  himself  overcome,  'we  are  summoned  from  earth  to 
heaven.  Come  with  me,  my  Gustav.'  The  little  one  trem- 
bled with  anxious  joy.  The  flute  continues  to  sound ;  they 
ascend  the  heaven's  ladder,  —  two  anxious  hearts  almost  burst- 
ing with  their  throes.  The  Genius  pushes  open  the  gate  and 
places  the  child  on  the  earth  beneath  the  sky.  Now  the  swell- 
ing billows  of  the  living  ocean  break  over  Gustav.  With  halt- 
ing breath,  with  eye  oppressed,  with  soul  overwhelmed,  he 
stands  before  the  immeasurable  aspect  of  Nature,  and  clings 
trembling  more  closely  to  his  Genius.  But  when,  after  the 
first  stark  amazement,  he  opened  his  mind  to  these  instreaming 
floods ;  when  he  felt  the  thousand  arms  with  which  the  sublime 
Soul  of  the  universe  pressed  him  to  itself ;  when  he  was  able 
to  contemplate  the  green  billowy  flower-life  around  him ;  .  .  . 
when  his  uplifted  eye  lost  itself  in  the  deep  heaven,  the  entrance 
to  infinity ;  .  .  .  when  he  saw  the  mountains  like  other  earths 
encamped  upon  ours ;  when  he  saw  himself  encompassed  by 
endless  life,  —  the  feathered,  flying  life  beneath  the  clouds, 
the  humming  life  at  his  feet,  the  golden  creeping  life  on  all  the 
leaves,  the  living,  beckoning  arms  and  heads  of  the  giant  trees ; 
when  the  morning  wind  seemed  to  him  the  mighty  breath  of  a 
coming  spirit;  when  the  fluttering  foliage  whispered  and  the 
apple-tree  tossed  a  cool  leaf  against  his  cheek ;  .  .  .  when  at  last 
the  heavens  began  to  burn,  and  the  trailing  border  of  the  mantle 
of  night  disappeared  in  the  blaze,  and  on  the  rim  of  the  earth 
the  sun  lay  like  the  crown  of  God  dropped  from  his  throne,  — 
then  Gustav  exclaimed,  '  There  is  God  ! '  and  with  dazzled  eye 
and  mind  fell  down  upon  the  flowers  with  the  greatest  prayer 
that  ever  a  childish  bosom  contained." 


JEAN  PAUL.  423 


VAN  DER  KABEL'S  WILL.i 

No  one,  since  Haslau  was  made  a  royal  residence,  could  re- 
member anything,  unless  it  were  the  birth  of  a  crown  prince, 
which  had  been  looked  forward  to  with  such  interest  as  the 
opening  of  Van  der  Kabel's  Will. 

Van  der  Kabel  might  be  called  the  Haslau  Croesus,  and  his 
life  a  numismatic  diversion,  or  a  gold  wash  under  a  gold  rain, 
or  whatever  else  wit  might  choose  to  term  it.  Seven  still  liv- 
ing distant  relations  of  seven  deceased  distant  relations  enter- 
tained indeed  some  hopes  of  a  place  in  his  testament,  inasmuch 
as  the  Croesus  had  sworn  to  them  to  remember  them  in  it ;  but 
their  hopes  were  faint,  for  the  reason  that  they  did  not  espe- 
cially trust  him,  not  only  because  he  managed  everything  in 
such  a  grumblingly  moral  and  disinterested  fashion  (the  seven 
relations  being  still  beginners  in  morals),  but  also  because  he 
had  such  a  mocking  way,  and  a  heart  so  full  of  tricks  and  traps 
that  no  reliance  could  be  placed  on  him.  The  persistent  smile 
about  his  temples  and  his  thick  lips,  and  his  sneering,  piping 
voice  weakened  the  good  impression  which  might  have  been 
made  by  his  nobly  formed  countenance  and  a  pair  of  big  hands 
from  which  fell  daily  New- Year's  presents  and  benefit-plays  and 
donations.  For  which  reason  the  birds  of  passage  represented 
the  man  —  this  bird-berry  tree  on  which  they  fed  and  roosted  — 
as  a  hidden  snare,  and  could  scarcely  see  the  visible  berries  for 
the  invisible  hair-springes. 

Between  two  strokes  of  apoplexy  he  had  made  his  will,  and 
deposited  it  with  the  magistracy.  In  the  very  act  of  deliver- 
ing, when  half  dying,  their  certificates  of  deposit  to  the  seven 
presumptive  heirs,  he  said,  in  his  old  tone,  that  "  he  hoped  that 
this  token  of  his  approaching  end  would  not  depress  grave  men, 
whom  he  would  much  rather  think  of  as  laughing  heirs  than 
as  weeping  ones."  Only  one  of  them  —  Police-Inspector 
Harprecht,  the  cold  ironist  —  replied  to  this  warm  irony,  that 
*' probably  their  interest  in  such  a  loss  did  not  depend  on 
themselves." 

1  Prom  the  Flegeljahre. 


424  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Finally,  the  seven  heirs  appeared  with  their  certificates  at 
the  Council-house  ;  namely,  the  Church-Counsellor  Glanz,  the 
Police-Inspector  Harprecht,  the  Court- Agent  Neupeter,  the 
Court-Solicitor  Knoll,  the  Bookseller  Pasvogel,  the  Morn- 
ing-Preacher Flachs,  and  Flitte  from  Alsace.  They  claimed 
the  notice  deposited  by  the  late  Kabel,  and  the  regular  and 
formal  opening  of  the  will.  The  chief-executor  of  this  was  the 
reigning  burgomaster  himself ;  the  sub-executors,  the  rest  of 
the  City  Council.  The  Notice  and  the  Testament  were  imme- 
diately produced,  .  .  .  shown  to  the  assembled  Councillors  and 
heirs,  for  inspection  of  the  secret  city-stamp  ;  the  registered 
certificates  were  read  aloud  by  the  city  clerk  to  the  seven  heirs, 
who  were  thereby  informed  that  the  departed  had  actually  de- 
posited such  notice  with  the  magistracy  and  intrusted  it  to  the 
public  archives,  and  that  on  the  day  of  the  deposition  he  had 
been  of  sound  mind.  Then,  finally,  the  seven  seals  which  he 
himself  had  stamped  upon  them  were  inspected  and  found  en- 
tire. Now,  after  the  city  clerk  had  made  a  record  of  all  this, 
the  will  could,  in  God's  name,  be  opened  and  read  aloud  by  the 
reigning  burgomaster,  as  follows  :  — 

"  I,  Von  der  Kabel,  here  in  my  house  in  Dog  Street,  Haslau,  on 
the  7th  May,  179-,  do  make  my  will  without  many  million  words, 
although  I  have  been  a  German  notary  and  a  Dutch  domine. 

"  Devising  and  disinheriting  are  universally  regarded  as  the 
most  essential  parts  of  a  will.  Accordingly,  I  bequeath  to  Mr. 
Ecclesiastical- Councillor  Glanz,  Mr.  Court-Solicitor  Knoll,  Mr. 
Court-Agent  Peter  Neupeter,  Mr.  Police-Director  Harprecht, 
Mr.  Morning-Preacher  Flachs,  Mr.  Bookseller  Pasvogel,  and  Mr. 
Flitte,  for  the  present,  nothing.  Not  because,  being  very  distant 
relatives,  they  are  entitled  to  no  Trebellianica,  or  because  most  of 
them  have  enough  of  their  own  to  devise,  but  because  I  know  from 
their  own  lips  that  they  esteem  my  poor  person  much  more  than 
my  large  estate,  which  person,  therefore,  I  leave  to  them,  however 
little  may  be  got  by  it." 

At  these  words  seven  long  faces  started  up  like  the  Seven 
Sleepers.     The  ecclesiastical  councillor,  a  young  man  still,  but 


JEAN  PAUL.  425 

famous  in  all  Germany  by  his  spoken  and  printed  discourses, 
was  the  one  who  felt  himself  most  offended  by  such  insinua- 
tions. The  Alsatian  Flitte  muttered  a  half-audible  curse.  The 
morning-preacher  Flachs's  chin  dropped  down  like  a  beard.  The 
City  Council  could  hear  sundry  half-loud  exclamations  against 
the  late  Kabel,  such  as  "  scalawag,"  "  fool,"  "  infidel,"  etc.  But 
the  burgomaster  Kuhnold  beckoned  with  his  hand,  and  while 
the  solicitor  and  the  bookseller  set  all  the  muscles  in  their 
faces  like  so  many  spring-traps,  read  on,  although  with  forced 
gravity :  — 

"  Except  my  present  house  in  Dog  Street,  which,  just  as  it 
stands,  shall  be  adjudged  and  shall  belong  to  that  one  of  my  seven 
above-named  relatives  who,  within  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  to  be 
reckoned  from  the  reading  of  this  clause,  shall,  sooner  than  the 
other  six  rivals,  succeed  in  shedding  a  tear  or  tears  in  the  presence 
of  an  honorable  magistrate,  who  shall  make  protocol  thereof.  But  if 
all  remain  dry,  then  the  house  must  also  lapse  to  the  universal  heir, 
whom  I  shall  immediately  name." 

Here  the  burgomaster  closed  the  will,  and  remarked  that 
the  condition  might  be  an  unusual  one,  but  was  not  contrary 
to  law,  and  that  the  Court  must  adjudge  the  house  to  the  first 
one  who  should  weep.  He  laid  his  watch,  which  indicated 
half -after-eleven,  on  the  sessions-table,  and  sat  quietly  down, 
in  order,  with  the  rest  of  the  Court,  as  executors  of  the  testa- 
ment, to  note  who  should  first  shed  the  desired  tears  for  the 
testator. 

That  so  long  as  the  earth  has  stood  and  moved  there  was 
ever  upon  it  a  more  troubled  and  perplexed  congress  than 
this  of  seven  united  dry  provinces  assembled  for  weeping,  can 
hardly  without  partiality  be  supposed.  At  first,  for  some  pre- 
cious minutes,  there  was  mere  confusion,  astonishment,  smiles. 
The  Congress  saw  itself  too  suddenly  transported  into  the  posi- 
tion of  that  dog  which,  in  the  midst  of  its  fiercest  onset,  the 
enemy  brought  to  a  still  stand  by  crying  out  "  Watch  !  "  and 
which  suddenly  stood  on  its  hind  legs  and,  snarling,  watched. 
From  cursing  they  were  too  swiftly  hurried  up  to  weep.    Every 


426  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

one  saw  that  genuine  emotion  was  out  of  the  question  ;  a 
shower  on  the  gallop,  a  hunting-baptism  of  the  eyes,  was  not  to 
be  thought  of.  Nevertheless,  in  twenty-six  minutes  something 
might  be  accomplished. 

The  merchant  Neupeter  asked  if  it  were  not  a  cursed  busi- 
ness ai;id  fool's  trick,  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Nevertheless,  at  the  thought  that  a  house  might  float  into  his 
possession  on  a  tear  he  experienced  a  peculiar  irritation  of  the 
glands,  and  looked  like  a  sick  lark  that  is  being  clystered  with 
an  oiled  pin's  head.     The  house  was  the  pin's  head. 

The  solicitor  Knoll  distorted  his  face  like  a  mechanic's  ap- 
prentice whom  one  of  his  cronies  is  shaving  and  scraping  of  a 
Saturday  evening  by  a  shoemaker's  candle.  He  was  fearfully 
enraged  at  the  misuse  of  the  title  "  testament,"  and  near  enough 
to  tears  of  wrath. 

The  sly  bookseller,  Pasvogel,  quietly  addressed  himself  at 
once  to  the  matter  in  hand,  and  went  over  in  a  hurry  every- 
thing of  a  moving  kind  that  he  had  in  his  shop,  or  on  commis- 
sion, and  looked  the  while  like  a  dog  that  is  licking  off  the 
emetic  which  the  Parisian  dog-doctor  Demet  has  smeared  his 
nose  with.  Time  was  absolutely  necessary  to  produce  the 
desired  effect. 

Flitte,  the  Alsatian,  danced  without  ceremony  in  the  session's 
room,  laughed  at  all  the  serious  faces,  and  swore  that  though 
he  was  not  the  richest  of  the  lot,  he  could  not  weep  in  so  funny 
a  case  for  all  Strasburg  and  Alsace  to  boot.  At  last,  the  police- 
inspector  Harprecht  gave  him  a  significant  look,  and  assured 
him  that  if  Monsieur  hoped  by  laughter  through  the  well-known 
glands  —  the  meibomian,  the  caruncula,  and  others  —  to  produce 
the  desired  drops,  and  thus  surreptitiously  to  moisten  his  eyes 
with  this  window-sweat,  he  would  have  him  know  that  as  little 
could  be  gained  in  that  way  as  by  blowing  his  nose,  —  in  which 
operation,  as  we  know,  more  tears  flow  into  the  eyes  through 
the  ductus  nasalis  than  into  all  the  church  pews  during  a 
funeral  sermon.  But  the  Alsatian  declared  that  he  was  laugh- 
ing only  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  and  not  with  any  graver 
design. 


JEAN  PA  UL,  427 

The  inspector,  on  his  part,  conscious  of  the  dephlegmatized 
state  of  his  heart,  endeavored  to  force  into  his  eyes  something 
that  would  answer  the  purpose  by  staring  with  them  wide 
open. 

The  morning-preacher,  Flachs,  looked  like  a  Jew-beggar  on 
horseback  when  his  horse  is  running  away  with  him.  Never- 
theless, he  might  have  drawn  up  the  needful  water  by  the 
action  of  a  heart  which  had  already  gathered  about  it  the  sul- 
triest clouds,  out  of  domestic  and  ecclesiastical  miseries,  had 
not  the  vision  of  the  house  come  floating  in  with  a  joyful 
aspect  that  dammed  the  current. 

Glanz,  the  church-councillor,  who  knew  his  own  nature  from 
the  experience  of  many  New  Years'  and  funeral  sermons,  and 
was  aware  that  he  himself  was  the  first  to  be  moved  when  he 
sought  to  awaken  emotion  in  others,  rose  up,  and  seeing  the 
others  hanging  so  long  on  the  drying  rope,  said,  with  dignity, 
that  every  one  who  had  read  his  printed  works  must  know  that 
he  had  a  heart  in  his  bosom  which  compelled  him  rather  to 
repress  such  sacred  signs  as  tears,  in  order  to  rob  no  one,  than 
laboriously  to  elicit  them  for  secondary  purposes.  "  This  heart 
has  already  shed  them,  but  secretly ;  for  Kabel  was  my  friend," 
he  said,  and  looked  around.  With  satisfaction  he  perceived 
that  they  were  all  sitting  still  as  dry  as  corks.  Especially  at 
this  moment  crocodiles,  deer,  elephants,  witches,  grape-vines, 
could  have  wept  sooner  than  the  heirs  thus  disturbed  and 
enraged. 

Flachs  alone  profited  thereby.  He  thought  over  in  a  hurry 
Kabel's  charities  and  the  poor  frocks  and  gray  hairs  of  his 
female  hearers  at  the  morning  service  ;  Lazarus  with  his  dogs, 
and  his  own  long  coffin ;  moreover,  the  beheading  of  so  many 
victims,  the  sorrows  of  Werther,  a  miniature  battle-field ;  and 
himself  worrying  and  tormenting  himself  in  his  young  years  so 
miserably  for  the  sake  of  that  clause  in  the  will.  It  needed 
but  three  strokes  more  with  the  pump-handle,  and  he  would 
fetch  the  water  and  the  house. 

"  O  Kabel,  my  Kabel !  "  continued  Glanz,  almost  weeping  for 
joy  at  the  prospect  of  the  coming  tears  of  sorrow,  "  when  at 


428  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

some  future  day,  by  the  side  of  thy  breast  full  of  love  which 
the  earth  now  covers,  mine  also  shall  lie  and  mould  — " 

"  I  believe,  worthy  sirs,"  interrupted  Flachs,  standing  up  and 
looking  round  with  a  sad  and  streaming  countenance,  "  I  believe 
I  am  weeping." 

He  then  sat  down  and  let  the  tears  flow  more  joyfully.  He 
had  reached  dry  land ;  he  had  fished  away  the  prize-house  from 
the  competing  eyes  of  Glanz,  who  was  now  greatly  vexed  at  the 
effort  he  had  made,  having  talked  away  half  his  appetite  to  no 
purpose. 

Flachs's  emotion  was  duly  recorded,  and  the  house  in  Dog 
Street  awarded  to  him  forever. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  429 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE  ROMANTIC   SCHOOL. 

I.  — THE  SCHLEGELS. 

THE  brothers  Sclilegel  play  a  conspicuous  part  in 
the  literary  circle  which  initiated  and  in  part 
constituted  the  Romantic  School.  They  assumed  dic- 
tatorial authority  and  exercised  a  controlling  influence 
—  salutary  in  the  main  —  on  the  current  literature  of 
their  time.  It  was  the  influence  of  criticism,  not  of 
example  ;  often  unduly  severe,  but  none  the  less  potent 
on  that  account. 

Fastidiousness  in  criticism  is  a  safe  card.  Let  the 
critic  be  so  exquisite  that  nothing  recent,  and  no  ac- 
cepted models,  satisfy  him,  and  he  becomes  imposing. 
Let  him  propound  some  crotchet  as  a  canon  of  art,  and 
he  is  sure  to  have  followers  in  never  so  devious  paths. 
The  pre-Raphaelism  in  pictorial  art  which  prevailed  a 
few  years  since  may  be  cited  as  an  illustration.  Art, 
it  was  claimed,  had  gone  astray  since  Giotto  ;  she  had 
become  carnal :  it  behooved  her  to  return  to  the  ideal- 
ism of  the  thirteenth  century.  A  similar  reform  was 
that  demanded  for  literature  by  the  Schlegels,  both  men 
of  learning  and  ability.  Without  creative  genius  they 
made  themselves  the  tongeber,  the  setters  of  literary 
fashion.  They  did  for  the  Romantic  School  what  Nicolai 
and  the  Universal  German  Library,  in  a  former  gene- 


430  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

ration,  had  done  for  the  Aufhldrung.  The  Aufkldrung 
was  defunct.  To  Nicolai  and  his  school  had  succeeded 
Lessiug  and  Herder,  and  Schiller  and  Goethe.  But  by 
these  the  rationalism  of  the  Aufkldrung  had  been  merely 
superseded,  ignored,  not  antagonized ;  the  revolution  was 
not  complete  until  the  opposite  principle  had  asserted 
itself.  The  Schlegels,  and  especially  Friedrich  Schlegel, 
proclaimed  the  opposite  principle  of  spiritualism,  the 
characteristic  principle  of  the  Romantic  School,  —  spirit- 
ualism in  the  contemplation  and  treatment  of  Nature 
and  life,  ultimating  in  mysticism.  This  principle  the 
self-constituted  dictators  proclaimed  from  their  cathedra 
in  Jena  in  the  pages  of  the  "  Athenaeum,"  and  with  auto- 
cratic arrogance  applied  as  a  test  to  the  reigning  celeb- 
rities of  the  day.  Schiller  was  declared  to  be  no  poet ; 
even  Goethe  was  found  wanting.  Tieck  alone  satisfied 
the  stern  requirements  of  their  infallible  standard.  Falk, 
in  his  portraiture  of  Goethe,  records  some  humorous  re- 
marks of  the  poet  respecting  this  dogmatism :  — 

"  I  allow  myself  the  liberty  to  regard  Schiller  as  a  poet,  and 
even  a  great  poet,  notwithstanding  the  latest  imperators  and 
dictators  have  assured  us  that  he  is  not  a  poet.  Wieland,  too, 
they  will  not  accept.  The  question  then  is,  Whom  will  they 
accept  ? 

"  A  short  time  since,  a  literary  newspaper  —  I  forget  whether 
in  Ingolstadt  or  Landshut  —  formally  proclaimed  Friedrich 
Schlegel  the  first  German  poet  and  imperator  in  the  Republic 
of  Letters.  God  preserve  his  Majesty  on  his  new  throne,  and 
grant  him  a  long  and  happy  reign !  Nevertheless,  it  cannot  be 
concealed  that  his  kingdom  is  still  encompassed  by  very  rebel- 
lious subjects,  some  of  whom  [glancing  at  Falk]  we  have  in 
our  immediate  vicinity.  For  the  rest,  the  proceedings  in  our 
German  Republic  of  Letters  are  as  wild  as  those  which  marked 
the  decline  of  the  Roman  Empire,  where  it  ended  with  every- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  431 

body  wanting  to  reign,  and  no  one  knew  exactly  who  was 
emperor.  .  .  .  Wieland  and  Schiller  are  already  declared  to 
have  forfeited  their  throne.  How  long  my  old  emperor's  man- 
tle will  remain  on  my  shoulders  no  one  can  say.  I  myself 
know  not.  But  I  am  resolved,  if  ever  it  should  come  to  that, 
to  show  the  world  that  kingdom  and  sceptre  are  not  grown  to 
my  heart,  and  to  bear  my  dethronement  with  patience,  as  indeed 
no  man  in  this  world  can  easily  escape  his  fate." 

Of  the  two  brothers,  Friedrich,  the  younger,  is  com- 
monly affirmed  to  be  the  greater  genius.  It  is  not  very 
clear  on  what  grounds  this  superiority  is  claimed  for 
him.  Both  were  men  of  extraordinary  ability,  and  if 
Friedrich  gives  the  impression  of  greater  originality,  it 
is  owing  perhaps  to  his  more  eccentric  and  extreme 
views.  August  Wilhelm  was,  as  it  seems  to  me,  the 
more  comprehensive  and  talented  of  the  two.  We  will 
take  them  in  the  order  of  seniority. 

August  Wilhelm,  son  of  Consistorialrath  Schlegel  of 
Hanover,  was  born  1767;  studied  philology  in  Gottingen, 
where  he  became  a  favorite  with  the  poet  Burger,  who 
called  him  his  beloved  son  in  Apollo,  and  where  he 
gained  the  prize  for  a  Latin  dissertation  on  the  geog- 
raphy of  Homer,  and  furnished  the  index  to  Heyne's 
Virgil.  After  leaving  the  University  and  spending  some 
years  as  a  private  tutor  in  Amsterdam,  he  returned  to 
Germany  and  established  himself  in  Jena,  where  he  re- 
ceived in  1798  the  appointment  of  Professor  of  Literature. 
He  there  became  intimate  with  Tieck  and  Schelling  and 
other  men  of  note,  and  edited,  in  connection  with  his 
brother,  the  "  Athenaeum,"  the  organ  of  the  Romantic 
School.  In  1802  he  went  to  Berlin,  where  he  lectured 
for  two  years  on  literature  and  art.     In  1804  he  made 


432  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  acquaintance  of  Madame  de  Stael,  who  received  from 
him  the  greater  part  of  the  information  concerning  Ger- 
man literature  embodied  in  her  work," De  FAllemagne." 
He  travelled  four  years  in  her  company,  sojourning  for 
a  while  in  the  principal  capitals  of  Europe.  While  in 
Vienna  he  gave  the  celebrated  lectures  on  dramatic 
literature,  which  mark  an  epoch  in  dramatic  criticism. 
In  Sweden  he  was  made  Councillor  of  Legation,  and  re- 
ceived the  diploma  of  nobility.  Returning  to  Germany 
he  distinguished  himself  by  his  political  brochures,  writ- 
ten in  German  and  in  French,  and  in  1818  was  called  to 
the  chair  of  Literature  in  the  new  University  of  Bonn, 
where  he  died,  1845. 

Germany,  the  land  of  scholars,  has  produced  few  who 
have  so  good  a  title  to  that  designation  as  the  elder 
Schlegel.  The  range  of  his  literary  culture  may  be  es- 
timated by  the  fact  that  he  wrote  with  equal  ease  in  four 
different  languages,  and  was  able  to  translate  into  Latin 
the  "  Gragas  "  from  the  Icelandic  and  the  "  Bhagavat- 
Gita"  from  the  Sanscrit.  Into  his  native  German  he 
translated  the  three  prime  poets  of  three  nations, — 
Shakspeare,  Dante,  and  Calderon.  His  Dante  and  his 
Calderon  I  know  only  by  repute,  as  unsurpassed  and  un- 
surpassable. Of  his  Shakspeare  I  can  say  from  perso- 
nal acquaintance  that  he  has  made  Shakspeare  write  in 
German ;  that  there  is  almost  nothing  enjoyed  by  an 
English  reader  in  the  plays  which  a  German  may  not 
enjoy  as  well.  The  masterly  translator  wrote  also  origi- 
nal poems,  and  among  other  things  a  tragedy  entitled 
"Ion."  These  compositions  have  found  no  favor  with 
either  critics  or  the  public.  They  are  insignificant  ap- 
pendages to  his  graver  works,  and  would  not,  it  is  likely, 
have  survived  without  these.     The  chief,  if  not  the  only 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  433 

merit  of  the  lyrics  is  the  skill  with  which  the  author  man- 
ages difficult  metres,  such  as  the  sonnet.  The  mould 
is  correct,  but  utter  want  of  inspiration  discredits  the 
filling.  They  are  well-constructed  fabrics,  and  only  lack 
life  to  make  them  good  poems.  The  author,  in  a  sonnet 
written  to  himself,  claims  to  be  the  creator  and  the 
"  model  of  rule,"  —  that  is,  of  the  rule  of  art.  The  son- 
net is  characteristic  of  the  author's  inordinate  vanity. 
This  is  a  prose  translation  of  it :  — 

"  The  first  who  ventured  on  German  soil  to  wrestle  with  the 
spirit  of  Shakspeare  and  with  Dante ;  at  once  the  creator  and 
the  image  of  the  rule.  How  the  mouth  of  the  future  will  name 
him  is  unknown,  but  the  present  generation  recognizes  him  by 
the  name  of  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel." 

But  with  all  his  vanity  and  other  weaknesses,  Schlegel 
was  a  man  of  extraordinary  powers.  As  a  critic  he 
achieved  a  lasting  fame,  and  in  spite  of  some  acciden- 
tal partialities  must  be  reckoned  among  the  foremost 
in  that  kind,  —  less  original,  perhaps,  than  Lessing,  but 
equally  ingenious  and  profound.  Many  views  which 
are  now  familiar  he  was  the  first  to  enunciate. 

I  select  the  following  from  his  "  Lectures  on  Dramatic 
Literature  ":  — 

"  The  distinction  we  have  just  stated  [the  distinction  between 
Classic  and  Romantic  literature]  can  hardly  fail  to  appear  well 
founded  if  it  can  be  shown  that  the  same  contrast  in  the  works 
of  the  ancients  and  moderns  runs  symmetrically,  I  might  al- 
most say  systematically,  through  every  branch  of  art  as  far  as 
our  knowledge  of  antiquity  extends  ;  that  it  is  as  evident  in 
music  and  the  plastic  arts  as  in  poetry.  .  .  .  Rousseau  acknowl- 
edged the  contrast  in  music,  and  demonstrated  that  rhythm  and 
melody  constituted  the  prevailing  principle  of  the  ancients  and 
harmony  of  the  moderns.  .  .  .  On  the  subject  of  the  plastic  arts, 

28 


4S4  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

an  ingenious  observation  was  made  by  Hemsterhuys  that  the 
ancient  painters  were  perhaps  too  much  sculptors,  and  that  the 
modern  sculptors  are  too  much  painters.  This  is  the  exact 
point  of  difference,  for  I  shall  distinctly  show  in  the  sequel  that 
the  spirit  of  ancient  art  and  poetry  is  plastic,  and  that  of  the 
moderns  picturesque.  By  an  example  taken  from  another  art, 
—  that  of  architecture,  —  I  shall  endeavor  to  illustrate  what  I 
mean  by  this  contrast.  In  the  Middle  Ages  there  prevailed 
a  style  of  architecture  which,  in  the  last  centuries  especially, 
was  carried  to  the  utmost  degree  of  perfection,  and  which, 
whether  justly  or  unjustly,  has  been  called  Gothic  architecture. 
When  in  the  general  revival  of  classical  antiquity  the  imitation 
of  Grecian  architecture  became  prevalent,  and  but  too  frequently 
without  due  regard  to  the  difference  of  climate  and  manners  or 
the  destination  of  the  structure,  the  zealots  of  this  new  taste 
passed  a  sweeping  sentence  of  condemnation  on  the  Gothic, 
which  they  represented  as  tasteless,  gloomy,  and  barbarous. 
This  was  in  some  degree  pardonable  in  the  Italians,  among 
whom  a  love  for  ancient  architecture,  from  the  remains  of  clas- 
sical edifices  which  they  inherited,  and  the  similarity  of  their 
climate  to  that  of  the  Greeks,  might  in  some  sort  be  said  to 
be  innate.  But  with  us,  inhabitants  of  the  North,  the  first 
powerful  impression  on  entering  a  Gothic  cathedral  is  not  so 
easily  eradicated.  We  feel,  on  the  contrary,  a  strong  desire  to 
investigate  and  justify  the  source  of  this  impression.  A  very 
slight  attention  will  convince  us  that  the  Gothic  architecture 
not  only  displays  an  extraordinary  degree  of  mechanical  dex- 
terity, but  also  an  astonishing  power  of  invention  ;  and  on  a 
closer  examination  we  become  impressed  with  the  strongest 
conviction  of  its  profound  character,  and  of  its  constituting  a 
full  and  perfect  system  in  itself  as  well  as  the  Grecian. 

"  Now  for  the  application.  The  Parthenon  is  not  more  dif- 
ferent from  Westminster  Abbey  or  the  Church  of  St.  Stephen 
at  Vienna,  than  the  structure  of  a  tragedy  of  Sophokles  from  a 
drama  of  Shakspeare.  The  comparison  between  these  wonder- 
ful productions  of  poetry  and  architecture  might  be  carried  still 
further.     But  does  our  admiration  of  the  one  compel  us  to 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  435 

depreciate  the  other  ?  .  .  .  We  will  quarrel  with  no  one  for  his 
predilection,  either  for  the  Grecian  or  the  Gothic ;  the  world 
is  wide,  and  affords  room  for  a  great  diversity  of  objects.  Nar- 
row and  exclusive  prepossessions  will  never  constitute  a  genuine 
critic  or  connoisseur,  who  ought,  on  the  contrary,  to  possess 
the  power  of  elevating  himself  above  all  partial  views  and  of 
subduing  all  personal  inclinations." 

He  refers  the  different  styles  of  poetry  to  the  differ- 
ence in  cliaracter  and  religion  between  the  Greeks  and 
the  moderns. 

"  With  the  Greeks,  human  nature  was  in  itself  all-sufficient. 
They  were  conscious  of  no  wants  and  aspired  to  no  higher  per- 
fection than  that  which  they  could  actually  rittain  by  the  exer- 
cise of  their  own  faculties.  The  very  reverse  of  all  this  is  the 
case  with  the  Christian.  Everything  finite  and  mortal  is  lost 
in  the  contemplation  of  infinity.  Life  has  become  a  shadow, 
and  the  first  dawning  of  our  real  existence  opens  in  the  world 
beyond  the  grave.  Such  a  religion  must  awaken  the  foreboding 
which  slumbers  in  every  heart  to  the  most  thorough  conscious- 
ness that  the  happiness  after  which  we  strive  we  can  never  here 
attain  ;  that  no  external  object  can  ever  entirely  fill  our  souls ; 
and  that  every  mortal  enjoyment  is  but  a  fleeting  and  momen- 
tary illusion.  When  the  soul,  resting  as  it  were  beneath  the 
willows  of  exile,  breathes  out  its  longing  for  its  distant  home, 
the  prevailing  character  of  its  songs  must  be  melancholy.  Hence, 
the  poetry  of  the  ancients  was  the  poetry  of  enjoyment,  and  ours 
is  that  of  desire.  The  former  has  its  foundation  in  the  present; 
the  latter  hovers  between  memory  and  hope." 

In  his  lecture  on  Shakspeare,  Schlegel  vindicates  the 
poet  from  the  charge  of  ignorance  :  — 

"  The  proofs  of  his  ignorance,  on  which  the  greatest  stress  is 
laid,  are  a  few  geographical  blunders  and  anachronisms.  Be- 
cause in  a  comedy  founded  on  a  tale  he  makes  ships  land  in 
Bohemia,  he  has  been  the  subject  of  ridicule.     But  I  conceive 


436  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

that  we  should  do  him  great  injustice  were  we  to  conclude  that 
he  did  not,  as  well  as  ourselves,  possess  the  valuable  but  by  no 
means  difficult  knowledge  that  Bohemia  is  nowhere  bounded  by 
the  sea.  He  could  never  in  that  case  have  looked  into  a  map 
of  Germany,  whereas  he  describes  the  maps  of  both  Indies 
with  the  discoveries  of  the  latest  navigators.  In  such  matters 
Shakspeare  was  faithful  only  in  the  historical  subjects  of  his 
own  country.  In  the  novels  on  which  he  worked  he  avoided 
disturbing  his  hearers,  to  whom  they  were  known,  by  the  cor- 
rection of  errors  in  secondary  things.  The  more  wonderful  the 
story  the  more  it  ranged  in  a  purely  poetical  region,  which  he 
transfers  at  will  to  an  indefinite  distance.  These  plays,  what- 
ever name  they  bear,  take  place  in  the  true  land  of  romance 
and  in  the  century  of  wonderful  stories.  ...  He  had  not  to  do 
with  a  petty  hypercritical  age  like  ours,  which  is  always  seek- 
ing in  poetry  for  something  else  than  poetry.  His  audience 
entered  the  theatre  not  to  learn  geography  and  natural  history, 
but  to  witness  a  vivid  exhibition.  I  undertake  to  prove  that 
Shakspeare's  anachronisms  are,  for  the  most  part,  committed 
purposely  and  after  great  consideration.  It  was  frequently  of 
importance  to  him  to  bring  the  subject  exhibited  from  the 
background  of  time  quite  near  to  us.  Hence  in  *  Hamlet,' 
though  avowedly  an  old  Northern  story,  there  prevails  the  tone 
of  modish  society,  and  in  every  respect  the  costume  of  the  most 
recent  period.'* 

Speaking  of  "  Hamlet,"  Schlegel  gives  this  ingenious 
explanation  of  the  bombast  which  characterizes  the 
speech  of  the  player  who  is  to  perform  in  the  presence 
of  the  Court,  concerning  Hecuba:  — 

"  It  never  occurred  to  them  [the  commentators]  that  this 
speech  must  not  be  judged  of  by  itself,  but  in  connection  with 
the  place  in  which  it  is  introduced.  In  order  to  distinguish  it 
as  dramatic  poetry  within  the  play  itself,  it  was  necessary  that 
it  should  rise  above  the  dignified  language  of  the  play  itself,  in 
the  same  proportion  that  the  theatrical  elevation  does  above 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  437 

simple  nature.    Hence,  Shakspeare  composed  the  play  introduced 
into  '  Hamlet '  in  sententious  rhymes  full  of  antitheses." 

Of  the  play  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  founded  on  a  story 
which  Shakspeare  did  not  invent,  the  critic  says :  — 

"  By  the  manner  in  which  he  has  handled  it,  it  has  become 
a  glorious  song  of  praise  on  that  inexpressible  feeling  which 
ennobles  the  soul  and  gives  to  it  its  highest  sublimity,  and 
which  elevates  even  the  senses  themselves  into  soul.  At  the 
same  time  it  is  a  melancholy  elegy  on  its  frailty,  from  its  own 
nature  and  external  circumstances  ;  at  once  the  deification  and 
the  burial  of  love.  It  appears  here  like  a  heavenly  spark 
which,  descending  to  earth,  is  converted  into  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, by  which  two  mortal  creatures  are  almost  at  the  same 
moment  ignited  and  consumed.  Whatever  is  most  intoxicating 
in  the  odor  of  a  Southern  spring,  languishing  in  the  song  of  the 
nightingale,  or  voluptuous  in  the  first  opening  of  the  rose,  is 
breathed  into  this  poem.  But  even  more  rapidly  than  the  ear- 
liest blossoms  of  youth  and  beauty  decay,  it  hurries  on  from 
the  first  timidly-bold  declaration  of  love  and  modest  return  to 
the  most  unlimited  passion,  to  an  irrevocable  union ;  then, 
amid  alternating  storms  of  rapture  and  despair,  to  the  death  of 
the  two  lovers,  who  still  appear  enviable,  since  their  love  sur- 
vives them,  and  since  by  their  death  they  have  obtained  a  tri- 
umph over  every  separating  power.  The  sweetest  and  the 
bitterest,  love  and  hatred,  festivity  and  dark  forebodings, 
tender  embraces  and  sepulchres,  the  fulness  of  life  and  self- 
annihilation,  are  here  brought  into  close  union.  And  all  these 
contrasts  are  so  blended  in  this  harmonious  and  wonderful  work 
into  one  impression,  that  the  echo  left  in  the  mind  by  the  whole 
resembles  a  single  but  endless  sigh."  ^ 


Friedrich  Schlegel,  his  brother's  junior  by  five  years, 
was  destined  by  his  father  for  mercantile  life,  and  placed 

1  These  quotations  are  from  Black's  translation. 


438  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

in  a  counting-room  at  Leipsic ;  but  feeling  in  himself  a 
vocation  for  letters,  at  the  age  of  sixteen  he  cut  short 
his  apprenticeship  and  began  to  prepare  for  the  Uni- 
versity. At  Gottingen  and  Leipsic  he  studied  philology, 
giving  special  attention  to  ancient  literature.  In  1797 
he  published  an  essay  on  the  "  Greeks  and  Romans," 
and  soon  after  another  on  the  "Poetry  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans."  At  the  beginning  of  the  century  he 
went  as  privat  docent  to  Jena,  and  in  company  with  his 
brother  edited  "  The  Athenaeum,"  in  which  he  promul- 
gated with  extravagant  zeal  the  principles  of  the  Ro- 
mantic School,  insisting  first  of  all  that  poetry  must  not 
be  divorced  from  life  ;  that  to  constitute  any  one  a  true 
poet  his  life  must  be  steeped  in  poetry.  He  further  un- 
dertook to  enforce  this  principle  in  his  unfinished  novel 
"  Lucinde,"  in  which  he  advocates  "  free  love  "  as  alto- 
gether a  more  poetic  relation  of  the  sexes  than  the  hard 
Philistine  institution  of  marriage.  There  is  nothing 
coarse  or  sensual  in  the  book ;  on  the  contrary,  it  leans 
toward  mysticism,  which  in  fact  was  the  characteristic 
proclivity  of  Schlegel's  nature.  It  was  rendered  harmless 
by  its  portentous  stupidity,  which  prevented  its  being  read 
except  by  adventurous  spirits  of  the  School  who  sympa- 
thized with  the  author,  and  by  some  hardened  review- 
ers. Schlegel  illustrated  his  doctrine  by  eloping  with 
the  wife  of  one  Veit,  a  degenerate  daughter  of  Moses 
Mendelssohn,  who  left  her  husband  and  children  and 
accompanied  him  to  Paris  as  his  wife,  and  afterward 
joined  him  in  his  apostasy  when,  in  pursuance  of  his 
romantic  principles,  he  went  over  to  the  Church  of 
Rome.  His  change  of  faith,  or  rather  of  ecclesiastical 
status,  secured  to  him  the  favorable  notice  of  the  Aus- 
trian Government  and  a  friendly  reception  at  Vienna, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  439 

whitlier  he  repaired,  and  where  he  was  made  secretary 
to  the  Chancellor  of  State.  In  1809,  attached  to  the 
service  of  Archduke  Charles,  he  distinguished  himself 
as  a  diplomat  by  his  official  papers  in  the  war  against 
Napoleon,  and  as  a  literary  man  by  his  lectures  on 
modern  history  and  on  ancient  and  modern  literature. 
The  high  estimation  in  which  his  diplomatic  services 
were  held,  caused  him  to  be  appointed  in  1815  Secretary 
of  Legation  to  the  German  Diet.  On  his  return  to 
Vienna  he  gave  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  Philosophy 
of  Life,  and  edited  the  "  Concordia,"  a  journal  aiming 
to  reconcile  conflicting  opinions  in  Church  and  State. 
We  next  find  him  in  Dresden  lecturing  on  the  Philoso- 
phy of  Language.  I  ought  to  have  stated  that  in  ear- 
lier years,  while  in  Paris,  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
study  of  the  Hindu  literature,  and  published  his  work 
entitled  "  Ueber  die  Sprache  und  Weisheit  der  Indier," 
by  which  he  became  the  pioneer  of  Sanscrit  scholarship 
in  Germany. 

The  lectures  in  Dresden  were  not  completed ;  he  died 
while  the  course  was  in  progress,  on  the  11th  of  January 
1829,  —  died  in  the  midst  of  an  unfinished  sentence. 
The  last  word  which  he  wrote  was  "  aber."  In  two 
hours  the  hand  which  wrote  it  was  cold.  A  stroke  had 
finished  the  writing  and  the  writer. 

Friedrich  Schlegel's  poetry  is  certainly  of  a  higher 
order  than  his  brother's.  But  while  it  escapes  the  hard- 
ness and  flatness  of  the  latter,  it  runs  to  the  opposite 
extreme  of  fantasticism  and  mysticism.  The  best,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  of  the  poems  I  have  examined  is  the  "  Ro- 
land," —  a  heroic  poem  written  in  the  same  metre  with 
Longfellow's  "Hiawatha."  But  the  best  of  his  poems 
are  not  the  best  of  his  doings ;  and  had  he  written  only 


440  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

poetry,  he  would  not  have  held  the  place  he  occupies  in 
the  roll  of  German  authors.  His  strength,  like  that  of 
August  Wilhelm,  lies  in  the  direction  of  philosophic 
criticism.  There  we  must  concede  to  him  eminent 
ability  when  even  we  dissent  from  his  Romanistic  views 
of  persons  and  events.  This  Romanistic  bias  is  con- 
spicuous in  his  judgment  of  Luther.  After  acknowl- 
edging the  beneficent  influence  which  the  writings  of 
the  great  reformer  exercised  on  the  German  language, 
he  remarks :  — 

"In  all  his  writings  there  is  a  conflict  between  light  and 
darkness ;  between  a  firm,  immovable  faith  and  an  equally  in- 
domitable, wild  passion ;  between  God  and  himself.  As  to  the 
course  he  adopted  at  that  parting  of  the  ways,  as  to  the  use  he 
made  of  his  great  intellectual  power,  that  is  a  matter  on  which 
opinions  now  as  then  must  differ  and  antagonize.  As  for  myself 
and  my  own  judgment  concerning  him,  I  need  hardly  say  that 
the  only  impression  made  upon  me  by  his  writings  and  his  life,  is 
that  compassion  which  we  always  feel  when  we  see  a  man  of 
great  and  exalted  nature  going  to  perdition  by  his  own  fault." 

In  his  lectures  on  modern  history,  which  manifest 
great  philosophic  insight  into  the  motive  powers  of  the 
times  and  the  sources  and  bearings  of  events,  he  em- 
phasizes a  defect  in  Luther's  character  which  is  unde- 
niable, which  his  own  followers  deplored,  but  of  which 
we  may  say  that  without  it  Luther  could  not  have  been 
the  power  he  was  or  accomplished  what  he  did. 

"  He  was  undeniably  gifted  with  great  qualities ;  and  all  the 
defects  we  are  obliged  to  lay  to  his  charge  may  be  comprised  in 
the  single  reproach  that  he  was  possessed  with  an  utterly  un- 
bending self-will  and  arrogance.  ...  To  this  one  quality  every- 
thing  that   by   its   passionate   violence   or   otherwise    appears 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  441 

censurable  may  be  traced,  and  everything  in  his  peculiar  views 
that  is  repugnant  to  the  mild  and  loving  spirit  of  Christianity. 
Whoever  would  restore  the  original  pure  form  of  Christianity 
must  act  in  its  own  mild  and  loving  spirit.  Thus  did  Borromeo 
and  Saint  Theresa,  with  all  their  strictness,  yet  still  full  of  love, 
really  reform  the  Church.  Luther's  violence  was  not  only  with- 
out restraint  toward  his  enemies,  but  even  toward  his  friends 
and  co-reiigionists,  if  they  did  not  think  exactly  like  himself. 
The  expressions  he  permitted  himself  to  use  against  Henry 
VIII.  appear  incredible  in  our  age.  His  vehemence  against 
the  Calvinists,  and  against  other  disciples  who  separated  from 
him,  and  whom  he  seemed  to  regard  as  rebellious  deserters,  ex- 
ceeded in  passionate  utterance  all  that  he  was  wont  to  manifest 
against  the  Anti-Christ  in  Rome,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  call- 
ing the  Pope.  Even  to  effect  the  removal  of  abuses  and  the 
reform  of  the  ecclesiastical  constitution  this  stormy  violence 
was  by  no  means  the  best  course ;  because,  from  the  close  con- 
nection of  Church  and  State,  all  proceedings  ought  to  have  been 
conducted  with  extreme  forbearance,  or  the  greatest  discord 
must  necessarily  ensue.  Least  of  all,  could  a  true  reform  of 
philosophy  be  achieved  .  .  .  b}^  a  man  who  could  speak  of  Aris- 
totle, the  great  teacher  of  Alexander,  as  nothing  but  '  a  damned 
rascally  dead  heathen.' " 

Friedrich  Sclilegel  followed  the  track  of  Herder  in  his 
wide  researches  into,  and  efforts  to  diffuse  a  knowledge 
and  right  estimate  of,  the  literature  of  all  times  and 
nations.  In  that  section  of  his  essay  entitled  "  Contri- 
butions in  Aid  of  the  Study  of  Romantic  Poetry,"  which 
treats  of  the  poetry  of  the  North,  he  discusses  the  char- 
acter of  the  Ossianic  poems.  It  is  well  known  that 
Macpher son's  publication  of  what  purported  to  be  a 
translation  from  the  Gaelic  of  the  poems  of  Ossian,  was 
hailed  with  enthusiasm  through  the  greater  part  of 
Europe. 


442  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"But  when  the  first  tumult  of  astonishment  had  subsided, 
and  the  cooler  influences  of  reason  and  judgment  resumed  their 
sway,  doubts  arose,  in  England  more  especially,  as  to  the  au- 
thenticity of  these  poems.  The  most  cursory  investigation  of 
the  old  Scottish  ballads  in  the  primitive  Gaelic  tongue,  made  it 
evident  that  Macpherson  had  acted  most  unfairly  in  his  version 
of  these  early  poems,  treating  them  in  an  arbitrary  and  careless 
manner.  At  length  a  complete  edition,  in  three  volumes,  of 
the  poems  of  Ossian,  in  the  original  language,  appeared  in, 
London  in  1807.  And  .  .  .  now  we  [Germans]  also  possess 
an  edition  of  these  poems,  conscientiously  translated  from  the 
Gaelic  original.  [The  poems  of  Ossian,  from  the  Gaelic,  in 
the  original  metre,  by  Charles  W.  Ahlwarts,  Leipsic,  1811.] 
By  means  of  this  work,  we  are  now  for  the  first  time  qualified 
to  decide  on  the  authenticity  and  true  merit  of  the  entire  com- 
position. Many  doubts  have,  it  is  true,  been  raised  in  Eng- 
land as  to  the  authenticity  of  our  [German]  Gaelic  Ossian." 

But  Schlegel  proceeds  to  say  that  there  is  strong  in- 
ternal evideQce  against  the  supposition  that  "  Macpher- 
son and  his  Scottish  accomplices  fabricated  and  invented 
the  whole,  —  an  opinion  which  the  scepticism  and  party 
spirit  of  many  learned  Englishmen  have  maintained 
with  unreasonable  pertinacity."  He  then  proceeds  to 
discuss  the  probable  date  of  these  poems.  Macpherson, 
it  seems,  "from  mistaken  patriotism,"  anxious  to  give 
them  high  antiquity,  and  to  carry  them  back  to  the  time 
of  the  Romans,  had  falsified  the  text.  The  chief,  styled 
by  Ossian  "  King  of  the  Shield,"  he  had  rendered  "  King 
of  the  World,"  and  applied  it  to  Caesar.  Their  date 
Schlegel  tliinks  cannot  have  been  earlier  than  the  latter 
portion  of  the  ninth  century. 

"The  exploits  of  Fingal  and  the  songs  of  Ossian  [which 
celebrate  them],  if  we  assign  to  the  former  the  earliest  period 
at  which  they  could  possibly  have  occurred,  and  suppose  the  lat- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  443 

ter  to  have  been  almost  contemporary  with  the  actions  recorded, 
cannot  have  been  earlier  than  the  conclusion  of  the  ninth  or 
the  opening  of  the  tenth  century.  By  a  remarkable  coinci- 
dence, it  happens  that  their  appearance  was  simultaneous  with 
that  of  many  other  grand  poetical  works.  The  development 
of  the  Edda,  in  its  present  form,  took  place  about  this  time  in 
Iceland,  while  the  knightly  deeds  of  Charlemagne  and  Roland 
became  the  theme  of  Norman  song.  The  Eastern  poet,  Fir- 
dusi,  about  the  same  time  collected  in  his  immortal  work  the 
history  of  Persia  and  the  traditions  of  her  ancient  kings  and 
warriors.  Not  much  later  the  Spanish  Cid  performed  those 
exploits  which  were  almost  immediately  celebrated  in  heroic 
tales,  and  made  the  subject  of  ravishing  songs  and  ballads. 
While  in  Germany  the  song  of  the  Nibelungen  appeared,  re- 
lating the  legend  of  Attila,  and  of  his  last  marriage,  and  the 
misfortunes  inflicted  upon  Germany  by  the  Frankish  and 
Gothic  heroes. 

"  All  these  works  appeared  in  the  very  heart  of  that  long  pe- 
riod of  time  usually  designated  the  night  of  the  Middle  Ages,  — 
a  term,  perhaps,  well  fitted  to  express  the  isolated  existence  of 
nations  and  individuals,  and  the  interruption  of  that  universal 
active  intercourse  which  prevailed  in  the  latter  period  of  the 
Roman  dominion.  ...  In  this  view,  and  because  the  business 
and  occupations  of  the  time  were  not  then  prosecuted  with  the 
skill  and  dexterity  of  modern  ages,  that  remarkable  period 
in  the  civilization  of  mankind  may  indeed  be  termed  a  night. 
But  how  starlit,  how  radiant  was  that  night !  Now,  on  the 
contrary,  we  are  wrapt  in  the  gloom  and  confusion  of  a  linger- 
ing twilight.  The  stars  which  shone  upon  that  night  are  dim, 
many  of  them  sunk  even  below  the  horizon,  and  yet  no  day 
has  risen  upon  us.  More  than  once,  indeed,  we  have  been  sum- 
moned to  hail  the  dawn  of  a  new  sun  which  was  to  bring  uni- 
versal knowledge,  happiness,  prosperity.  But  the  results  have 
by  no  means  justified  the  rash  anticipation ;  and  if  some  prom- 
ise seems  still  to  herald  the  approach  of  a  new  day,  it  is  but  the 
chill  breath  of  the  morning  air  which  ever  precedes  the  breaking 
light." 


444  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

Schlegel  calls  attention  to  a  very  remarkable  fact,  — 
the  absence  in  the  poems  of  Ossian  of  any  religion  :  — 

[The  Lowlands  of  Scotland  were  already  Christianized,  but 
the]  "  dwellers  on  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  the  distant  Highlands, 
and  many  chiefs  of  the  old  tribes,  were  either  ignorant  of  or 
refused  to  accept  the  doctrine.  Nevertheless,  the  worship  of 
the  Druids  had  long  been  totally  extinct.  This  circumstance 
may  account  for  the  absence  of  any  reference  in  these  poems 
to  their  tenets  or  institutions,  and  also  for  the  peculiar  Ossianic 
mythology,  or  rather  the  total  want  of  any  mythology.  .  .  . 
Ossian  seems  like  a  melancholy  echo  from  the  voice  of  a  ruined 
nation,  the  last  vanishing  shadow  of  man's  departing  faith  in 
ancient  mythology.  Except  the  spirits  of  departed  heroes 
hovering  around  their  mountains  in  mist  and  cloud,  Ossian 
knows  no  immortal  or  Divine  being.  He  names  none  except 
Loduinn,  who  is  probably  identical  with  Odin,  so  long  the 
supreme  divinity  of  Scandinavia.  It  is  as  if  the  unhappy  race 
whose  last  expiring  groans  were  heard  in  Ossian  had  no  longer 
any  divinities  of  their  own,  and  therefore  turned  with  longing 
hearts  to  the  majestic  heroes  and  demigods  of  the  happier  Scan- 
dinavian North." 

I  will  add  to  these  illustrations  of  Friedrich  Schlegel 
one  or  two  extracts  from  the  essay  on  the  "  Limits  of 
the  Beautiful  "  :  — 

"  '  The  world  itself  is  ever  young,'  —  thus  sings  the  poet  of 
Nature,  —  but  its  transitory  scenes  pass  swiftly  by.  Men 
come,  men  go,  eager  as  in  a  race ;  each  stretches  forth  his 
hand  to  seize  the  torch  of  life.  ...  *  Fly  !  '  Nature  seems  to 
say,  in  seductive  accents  to  humankind,  —  '  fly  from  thy  paltry 
legislations,  thy  miserable  art,  and  reverently  own  thy  alle- 
giance to  the  generous,  all-bounteous  mother,  whose  full  breast 
is  the  source  of  all  genuine  life.  There  is  in  the  human  breast 
a  fearful  unsatisfied  desire  to  soar  into  infinity,  —  a  feverish 
longing  to  burst  the  narrow  bounds  of  individuality  ;  and  man 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  445 

is  often  so  overcome  by  this  wild  longing  that  his  very  thirst 
for  freedom  makes  him  a  prey  to  the  overwhelming  force  of 
Nature.  In  savage  disdain  he  spurns  the  restraint  of  laws,  and 
with  loveless  soul  pollutes  the  glorious  excellence  of  his  being. 
Never  was  there  any  people  more  distinguished  by  their  keen 
enjoyment  of  natural  pleasure,  or  their  excess  in  every  intel- 
lectual and  mental  indulgence,  than  the  Romans;  never  were 
any  people  more  mighty  in  strength,  more  lawless,  intemperate, 
and  cruel  than  that  nation,  from  the  time  when  Brutus  first 
stained  his  noble  name  with  the  guilt  of  assassination  to  the 
period  of  Nero's  darker  crimes.  Their  capacity  for  enjoyment 
and  means  of  supplying  it  were  so  boundless  that  the  profu- 
sion and  luxury  of  a  Roman  life  surpass  the  limits  of  our  im- 
agination. The  very  enormity  of  their  crimes  excites  a  feeling 
of  wonder ;  indignation  is  almost  absorbed  in  astonishment  at 
the  indomitable  will,  the  unfettered  license,  which  could  dare 
their  perpetration.  The  results  of  such  excesses  are  inscribed 
in  characters  of  flame  on  every  page  of  their  annals,  and  seem 
to  be  handed  down  for  a  warning  to  all  coming  generations. 
All  that  the  earth  could  furnish  them  was  insufficient  to  satisfy 
their  unappeasable  longings,  till  Roman  vigor  itself  proved  un- 
able to  withstand  the  ceaseless  influence  of  revelry  and  riot. 
Enervated  and  debased,  they  sank  into  total  extinction." 

"  The  highest  bliss  of  the  human  soul  is  love.  The  noblest 
form  of  love  is  attachment  to  our  fatherland.  I  speak  not 
now  of  that  mighty  instinct  which  burned  in  the  breast  of 
Roman  heroes  and  patriots.  Regulus,  who  with  downcast 
eyes  tore  himself  from  his  kindred,  quitted  Rome,  and  hurried, 
a  noble  fugitive,  to  the  land  of  his  enemies  ;  Decius,  who,  de- 
voting himself  to  the  infernal  gods,  invoked  their  vengeance  on 
his  head  and  rushed  into  the  arms  of  death,  —  seem  to  us  rather 
demigods  than  men.  Compared  with  the  heavenly,  joyous 
simplicity  of  Bulls  and  Sperthias,  with  the  glowing  cheerful- 
ness of  Leonidas,  they  are  but  barbarians ;  they  fulfil  the  law, 
but  without  love.  Patriotism  was  not  the  incitement  of  those 
who  died  at  Thermopylse ;  they  fell  for  the  laws,  or  to  fulfil 
their  vows.     To  die  thus  was  the  summit  of  their  ambition. 


446  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

In  that  pure  system  of  government  which  aims  at  binding  all 
its  members  in  one  general  union,  there  is  a  communion  of 
love,  a  mutual  interchange  of  bliss  for  all.  It  was  the  loss  of 
this  which  the  unhappy  Lacedemonian,  who  had  forfeited  his 
honor  and  was  condemned  by  the  laws  of  his  country  to  perpet- 
ual ignominy,  could  not  survive.  This  separated  the  Dorians 
from  the  Romans  by  a  thousand  glorious  degrees.  It  was  this 
that  gave  to  the  life  of  Brasidas  so  bright  a  glow  of  equanimity 
and  peace." 

"  Imagine  a  character  in  which  the  susceptibility  of  the  mind 
is  small,  but  the  sensitiveness  of  the  soul  so  boundless  that  the 
slightest  emotion  thrills  through  every  nerve  of  the  spiritual 
being.  The  life  of  any  creature  so  constituted  would  be  a  cur- 
rent of  perpetual  agitation,  fluctuating  like  the  storm-tossed 
wave  between  earth  and  heaven,  now  rising  as  if  to  scale  the 
eternal  stars,  now  sinking  into  the  most  fearful  abyss  of  the 
deep.  .  .  .  Such  may  have  been  the  temperament  of  Sappho, 
and  this  would  give  us  a  clew  to  the  many  contradictory  ideas 
entertained  of  the  glorious  genius  so  essentially  and  intrinsically 
Greek.     We  too  may  say,  —  ,        " 

"  '  Still  burns  the  passion  that  inspired  the  JEolian  Muse, 
Still  breathes  the  love  her  lyre's  low  chords  betray.' 

One  of  her  songs  and  some  fragments  of  her  verse  deserve  to 
be  numbered  among  the  choicest  treasures  flung  by  the  wreck 
of  a  by-gone  world  on  the  stream  of  time,  and  borne  on  its 
bosom  to  the  shores  of  the  present.  Their  lofty  tenderness 
seems,  as  it  were,  the  offspring  of  a  cureless  melancholy. 
Countless  songs  of  a  similar  character  have  since  won  fame ; 
but  all  others  seem  feeble  and  commonplace  compared  with 
hers,  and  like  dim  earthly  fires  grow  pale  in  the  stainless  rays 
of  that  immortal  sun." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  447 


II.  —  NOVALIS. 


The  fairest,  purest,  tenderest  blossom  of  the  Romantic 
School,  and,  I  may  add,  of  all  the  schools  and  epochs  of 
German  literature,  is  Friedrich  von  Hardenberg,  better 
known  by  his  nom  c?e  jo/t^m^,  Novalis, — one  of  those  ideal 
beings  in  whom  spirit  so  predominates  over  flesh  as  to 
give  one  the  impression  of  a  stranger  in  earthly  scenes, 
an  ethereal  visitant  "  moving  about  in  worlds  not  real- 
ized." I  find  no  match  for  this  rare  genius  among  the 
authors  of  the  modern  world.  The  name  of  his  country- 
man Korner,  and  among  English  poets  those  of  Shelley 
and  Keats,  suggest  themselves  as  nearest  to  him  in 
their  unworldliness,  their  lofty  aspiration,  and  their  early 
death.  Shelley  especially,  who  died  at  nearly  the  same 
age,  resembles  him  in  the  ethereality  of  his  genius.  But 
Novalis  added  to  nearly  all  that  Shelley  possessed  in- 
tellectually a  deeper  intuition ;  and  to  all  that  Shelley 
was  morally,  a  childlike,  affectionate  nature  and  a  rever- 
ent faith. 

In  him  were  united  in  just  proportions  the  poet,  the 
philosopher,  and  the  scientist,  —  by  temperament  a  poet, 
by  intellectual  proclivity  a  metaphysician  of  the  idealist 
order,  by  professional  training  a  physicist,  with  a  special 
fondness  for  mathematics.  The  moral  beauty  of  his 
nature,  the  youtliful.  loveliness  of  his  person,  won  for 
him  the  enthusiastic  friendship  of  some  of  the  foremost 
intellects  of  his  time,  —  the  two  Schlegels,  Shelling, 
Tieck,  and  the  geologist  Werner. 

But  what  most  distinguishes  Novalis  among  his  literary 
contemporaries  is  his  deep  religiousness,  a  piety  dis- 
tinctively Christian,— Christian,  according  to  the  Mora- 
vian fashion ;  a  piety  which  clings  to  the  personal  Christ 


448  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

and  rejoices  in  the  consciousness  of  a  personal  relation 
with  him.  In  early  youth,  after  the  death  of  his  be- 
trothed, which  shattered  his  whole  being,  he  experienced 
what  is  technically  called  a  "  conversion."  The  expe- 
rience is  indicated  in  one  of  his  hymns.  ''In  a  time 
of  utter  misery,"  he  writes,  "  when  all  my  wishes  lay 
in  the  grave,  and  it  was  a  torment  to  be  still  on  the 
earth,  suddenly,  as  from  above,  the  stone  was  rolled 
away  from  the  sepulchre,  and  a  new  life  opened  up 
in  me." 

One  of  his  brothers  and  his  dear  friend  Friedrich 
Schlegel  became  converts  to  the  Church  of  Rome. 
Hence  the  rumor  that  Novalis  himself  had  joined  that 
communion,  —  a  rumor  which  misled  Goethe,  and  was 
confirmed  by  Falk  in  his  reported  conversations  with 
Goethe.  But  Tieck,  his  intimate  friend,  denies  the 
fact,  and  declares  that  Novalis  was  utterly  incapable 
of  such  a  step.  Whoever  has  read  with  attention  his 
"  Geistliche  Lieder "  must  be  satisfied  of  the  truth 
of  that  declaration.  There  is  no  trace  of  Romanism 
in  those  compositions.  His  Christianity  was  altogether 
of  a  different  type;  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  Moravian. 
Yet  he  never  joined  the  Moravian  communion,  of 
which  his  father  and  mother  were  zealous  members. 
Nominally  and  formally  he  was  a  Lutheran ;  but  he 
seems  to  have  felt  no  special  attrg^ction  to  any  ecclesi- 
astical organization.  His  religion  was  essentially  un- 
ecclesiastical. 

Noticeable  it  is  that  devoutness  in  his  case  was  not 
only  entirely  free  from  formalism  and  cant,  or  any  of 
that  outward  show  which  often  accompanies  the  religious 
life,  but  consisted  with  the  utmost  freedom  and  bold- 
ness of  thought,  and  with  utterances  which  might  seem 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  449 

shocking  to  conventional  pietism.     The  same  pen  which 
indited  those  devout  hj^mns,  — 


And 
And 


*'  Was  war'  ich  ohne  dich  gewesen 
Was  wiird'  ich  ohne  dich  nicht  sein, 

"  Unter  tauseud  frohen  Stunden," 

"  Ich  sage  jedem  dass  er  lebt 
Und  auferstanden  ist," 


could  also  write, — 

"  Miracles  as  contradictions  of  Nature  would  be  a-mathemati- 
cal.  But  there  are  no  miracles  in  that  sense.  .  .  .  Nothing  is 
miraculous  to  mathematics."  —  "  If  God  could  be  man,  he  can 
also  be  stone,  plant,  animal,  element.  In  this  way,  perhaps, 
there  is  a  continuous  redemption  in  Nature."  —  "  We  need  not 
fear  to  admit  that  man  has  a  preponderating  tendency  to  evil. 
So  much  the  better  is  he  by  nature;  for  only  the  unlike 
attracts." 

Friedrich  von.  Hardenberg,  whom  I  have  thus  far  de- 
signated by  his  nom  de  plume,  Novalis,  was  born  1772, 
in  Wiederstedt,  a  family  estate  in  the  county  of  Mansf eld 
in  Saxony.  He  was  the  son  of  Baron  von  Hardenberg, 
director  of  the  Saxon  salt-works,  a  wealthy,  energetic 
man  of  business,  who  combined  great  practical  ability 
with  a  cheerful  temperament,  high-toned  morals,  and 
strong  religious  faith  ;  the  mother,  a  loving  Christian 
woman,  whose  chief  interest  in  life  was  the  temporal  and 
moral  welfare  of  her  household.  Friedrich  was  the  sec- 
ond of  twelve  children.  A  sickly  childhood  delayed  the 
unfolding  of  his  mental  faculties.  No  bud  of  promise 
appeared  in  the  boy  until  his  ninth  year,  when,  encour- 
aged by  his  older  sister,  who  for  that  purpose  took  part 
in  his  boyish  tasks,  he  began  to  show  what  was  in  him. 

29 


450  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  entered  the  University  of 
Jena,  afterward  that  of  Leipsic  as  a  student  of  law, 
and  finished  his  academic  course  at  Wittenberg  in  the 
autumn  of  1794. 

His  thirst  for  knowledge  impelled  him  to  seek  it  in 
all  directions.  In  addition  to  the  studies  embraced  in 
his  proper  curriculum,  he  applied  himself  to  science  and 
philosophy.  Impatient  of  sciolism  and  vague  generali- 
ties, he  aimed  at  thoroughness  in  all  that  he  undertook. 
In  Jena  he  became  acquainted  with  Fichte,  who  had  been 
a  proteg^  of  his  father,  supported  by  him  in  school  and 
college  ;  and  with  Schelling,  first  a  pupil  of  Fichte,  whom 
he  soon  superseded.  In  converse  with  these  men  he 
imbibed  the  philosophic  spirit,  which  guided  all  his  in- 
quiries and  which  animates  all  his  writing.  One  of  his 
biographers.  Just,  says  of  him :  — 

"  I  was  to  be  his  teacher  and  guide,  but  he  became  my  teacher. 
Even  in  those  departments  in  which  by  experience  and  prac- 
tice I  may  be  supposed  to  have  had  the  advantage  of  him  in 
knowledge,  I  was  forced  to  summon  all  my  powers  to  satisfy 
his  spirit  of  investigation,  which  would  not  content  itself  with 
the  commonplace,  the  known,  the  every-day  use,  but  sought 
everywhere  the  refined,  the  profound,  the  hidden.  He  carried 
me  away  with  him,  freed  me  from  the  fetters  of  one-sidedness 
and  pedantry  by  which  an  old  business  man  is  apt  to  become 
enthralled.  By  his  conversation  and  writing  he  forced  upon  me 
a  many-sided  view  of  the  same  subject,  and  so  far  as  my  heavy 
moulded  nature  would  allow  raised  me  to  the  contemplation 
of  those  ideals  which  were  always  floating  before  his  mental 
vision.  .  .  .  Who  would  have  supposed  that  this  youth,  in  order 
to  fit  himself  for  a  man  of  business,  did  not  shun  the  labor  of 
repeating  and  entirely  remodelling  the  same  performance  twice 
or  thrice  until  it  seemed  to  me  what  it  ought  to  be ;  that  he 
marked  whole  pages  of  synonymous  or  slightly  differing  phrases, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  451 

in  order  to  have  command  of  variety  and  precision  of  expres- 
sion in  business  documents  ;  that  he  would  labor  at  the  com- 
monest tasks  of  a  practitioner  with  the  same  diligence  which 
he  bestowed  on  labors  more  congenial  to  such  a  mind  ?  But 
what  he  willed,  he  willed  not  half  but  wholly  ;  he  would  pursue 
nothing  superficially,  but  everything  thoroughly.  .  .  .  There  were 
three  things  for  which,  then,  and  I  believe  until  his  death,  he  had 
a  decided  predilection,  —  consistency  in  thinking  and  acting, 
aesthetic  beauty,  and  science." 

From  these  extracts  it  will  be  seen  that  Novalis  was 
destined,  not  less  by  his  own  preference  than  by  the 
wish  of  his  father,  for  a  life  of  business.  To  this  end, 
he  studied  the  principles  and  technicalities  of  trade  in 
Tennstedt  with  Just,  whom  I  have  just  quoted,  then 
chemistry  with  the  celebrated  chemist  Mingleb  in  Lan- 
gensalza,  and  mineralogy  with  Werner  in  Freiberg.  By 
these  studies  he  qualified  himself  to  pass  the  required 
examination,  which  procured  for  him,  a  short  time  before 
his  death,  the  post  of  assessor  of  the  board  of  directors 
of  the  Electoral-Saxon  Salina,  where  his  scientific  prepa- 
ration suggested  important  improvements  which  he  did 
not  live  to  realize.  He  had  no  need  to  hurry.  Accord-, 
ingly,  these  preparatory  studies,  often  interrupted  by 
illness  and  other  disturbing  events,  were  prolonged 
through  a  period  of  six  years ;  and  within  that  term, 
from  the  close  of  his  college  days  until  his  death,  his 
literary  labors  —  the  avocations  of  his  leisure  liours  — 
are  all  comprised. 

While  studying  with  Just  at  Tennstedt,  on  one  of  his 
professional  journeys  he  made  at  Grriiningen,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Arnstadt  in  Thiiringen,  the  acquain- 
tance of  Sophie  von  Kiihn,  a  girl  of  thirteen,  for  whom 
he  immediately  conceived  a  romantic  passion,  like  that 


452  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

which  the  child  Beatrice  inspired  in  the  boy  Dante,  —  a 
passion  which  for  him  also  was  the  source  of  a  vita 
nuova,  a  new  intellectual  life.     Tieck  says  :  — 

"  The  first  sight  of  this  beautiful  and  wondrously  lovely  fig- 
ure was  decisive  for  all  his  future.  One  may  say  that  the  sen- 
timent which  then  penetrated  and  animated  him  made  the 
contents  of  his  whole  life.  Even  on  childish  forms  there  is 
sometimes  stamped  an  expression  which,  as  being  too  blessedly 
and  spiritually  fair  and  lovely,  we  call  unearthly,  heavenly  ; 
and  in  the  contemplation  of  these  transfigured,  almost  trans- 
parent faces,  the  fear  befals  us  that  they  are  too  delicate,  too 
finely  woven  for  this  life,  that  it  is  death  or  immortality  which 
gazes  on  us  out  of  those  gleaming  eyes ;  and  it  oftens  happens 
that  a  swift  decline  verifies  our  fear.  .  .  .  All  who  have  known 
this  idol  of  our  friend's  devotion  are  agreed  that  no  description 
can  express  the  grace  and  heavenly  atmosphere  in  which  that 
unearthly  being  moved,  the  beauty  and  majesty  which  envel- 
oped her.     Novalis  became  a  poet  whenever  he  spoke  of  her." 

Notwithstanding  the  difference  in  their  ages,  he  ob- 
tained, toward  the  close  of  the  year  1795,  the  consent  of 
her  parents  to  their  betrothal ;  but  years  must  elapse 
.before  her  maturity  and  his  civil  position  would  allow  of 
their  union.  The  union  never  took  place.  After  long 
illness  and  a  painful  operation,  his  beloved  died  on  the 
eve  of  her  fifteenth  birthday.  Hardenberg  had  applied 
himself  to  medicine,  had  studied  her  case  pathologically, 
with  the  hope  of  saving  her.  He  could  not  believe  in 
the  possibility  of  her  being  taken  from  him.  He  was 
absent  at  the  time  of  her  death,  and  his  friends  Avere 
afraid  to  communicate  the  tidings.  At  last  his  brother 
Carl  took  upon  himself  the  needful  office.  Novalis  was 
stunned  with  the  blow.  As  soon  as  he  could  rally,  he 
repaired  to  Arnstadt,  the  town  nearest  the  family  estate 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  453 

of  the  Klihns,  and  obtained  permission  to  shut  himself 
up  for  whole  days  in  the  room  where  Sophie  had  died. 
A  sister  of  the  family,  led  by  curiosity  to  enter  the 
chamber,  was  startled  at  beholding  what  seemed  at  first 
an  apparition  of  the  deceased.  Novalis  had  dressed  a 
lay  figure  in  the  robe  and  cap  which  she  wore  on  tlie 
sick  bed,  and  placed  the  book  she  last  read  by  its  side, 
in  order  to  assist  his  imagination  in  recalling  her  idea. 

For  a  time  the  mourner  was  disqualified  for  study,  for 
all  occupation  but  that  of  brooding  over  his  loss.  It 
was  impressed  on  his  mind  that  he  should  follow  his  be- 
loved before  the  expiration  of  the  year.  But  the  year 
expired  and  he  still  lived.  The  lapse  of  time,  though  it 
left  him  still  a  mourner,  had  somewhat  blunted  the  keen 
edge  of  his  affliction.  His  grief  had  changed  from  a 
fierce  passion  to  a  tender  reminiscence.  It  may  seem 
unnatural  to  some,  but  in  reality  it  was  perfectly  natural 
and  entirely  consistent  with  sincere  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  his  first  love  that  he  should  form  a  new 
matrimonial  engagement.  There  was  a  void  in  his  life 
which  only  a  woman  could  fill.  He  needed  a  feminine 
comforter,  and  he  found  one  in  Julie  von  Charpentier, 
daughter  of  an  officer  of  the  mines  in  Freiberg,  where  he 
was  then '  occupied  with  the  study  of  mineralogy.  The 
second  love  was  less  passsionate  than  the  first,  but  not 
less  genuine,  and  gave  rich  promise  of  domestic  happi- 
ness in  the  culture  and  character  of  its  object.  But  this, 
too,  was  a  promise  never  to  be  realized.  The  brief  rem- 
nant of  Novalis's  life  did  not  suffice  for  its  fulfilment. 

The  three  succeeding  years  were  years  of  peace,  of 
social  enjoyment  and  vigorous  action.  It  was  during 
this  term  that  his  best  things  were  composed.  But  his 
bodily  constitution,  always  feeble,  could   never   satisfy 


454  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  demands  of  his  soul,  and  soon  succumbed  to  wasting 
disease.  On  the  25th  of  March,  1801,  before  his  twenty- 
ninth  birthday,  he  fell  asleep,  to  wake  no  more  in  the 
flesh,  while  listening  to  the  music  of  the  piano,  on  which 
his  brother  Carl  was  playing  at  his  request.  It  is  sel- 
dom that  the  early  death  of  a  writer  has  left  so  strong 
an  impression  of  a  great  possibility  lost  to  letters  and 
mankind. 

The  writings  of  Novalis,  besides  the  unfinished  novel 
"  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen,"  which  was  to  have  been 
his  masterpiece,  —  an  apotheosis  of  poesy,  —  are  the 
"  Hymns  to  Night "  (prose  compositions),  "  The  Disci- 
ples at  Sais,"  also  an  unfinished  work,  poems,  and  phi- 
losophic aphorisms.  Of  the  poems,  by  far  the  finest  are 
the  hymns ;  they  are  unsurpassed  by  anything  I  have 
met  with  in  that  line,  expressing  deep  feeling  and  reli- 
gious experience  in  pure  and  melodious  verse.  The 
author's  father,  a  practical  man  of  affairs,  with  no  taste 
for  poetry,  and  not  much  liking  though  not  opposing 
Friedrich's  attempts  in  that  kind,  heard  one  Sunday  in 
the  Moravian  chapel  a  hymn  which  affected  him  as  he 
had  never  before  been  affected  by  sacred  song,  reaching 
down  to  the  depths  of  his  being.  After  the  service,  on  the 
way  home,  he  asked  a  neighbor  whose  hymn  it  was  that 
the  congregation  had  sung  that  day.  "  Is  it  possible,"  was 
the  answer,  "  that  you  do  not  know  your  son's  hymn  ?  " 

The  aphorisms,  or  philosophical  fragments,  constitute 
about  one-half  of  what  is  left  to  us  of  Novalis's  writings. 
They  abound  in  quaint  suggestions  and  original  views, 
sometimes  paradoxical,  always  thoughtful,  often  pro- 
found ;  revealing  an  independent  thinker,  careless  of 
systems,  with  a  habit  and  reach  of  speculation  and 
meditation  beyond  his  years. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  455 


From  the  Miscellaneous  Fragments, 

"  Where  a  genuine  vocation  to  philosophize  predominates 
(which  is  something  more  than  elaboration  of  this  or  that 
thought),  there  is  progress.  In  the  absence  of  such  vocation 
many  learn  to  argue  and  form  conclusions,  —  as  a  shoemaker 
learns  shoemaking,  —  without  ever  dreaming  or  giving  them- 
selves the  trouble  of  ascertaining  the  ground  of  their  thoughts, 
which  is  the  only  sound  method.  With  many  the  interest  in 
philosophy  lasts  only  for  a  time ;  often  it  decreases  with  years, 
or  with  the  invention  of  a  system  which  was  sought  only  to  save 
the  trouble  of  reflection." 

"  The  highest  problem  of  culture  is  to  possess  oneself  of  one's 
own  transcendental  self,  to  be  the  ego  of  one's  e^o." 

"...  Without  perfect  self-knowledge  we  can  never  know 
others  aright." 

"  The  more  limited  a  system  is  the  more  it  will  please  the 
worldly-wise.  Hence  the  system  of  the  materialists  —  the  sys- 
tem of  Helvetius  and  also  of  Locke  —  has  been  most  approved 
by  that  class  of  men." 

"  Philosophy  is  fundamentally  anti-historic  ;  it  proceeds  from 
the  necessary  to  the  actual.  It  is  the  science  of  the  universal 
sense  of  divination  ;  it  explains  the  past  from  the  future.  The 
contrary  is  the  method  of  history." 

"  The  beginning  of  the  ego  is  merely  imaginary.  It  must 
have  begun  thus  if  at  all.  Beginning  is  a  later  idea ;  it  is 
subsequent  to  the  ego ;  therefore  the  ego  can  have  had  no 
beginning." 

"  I  =  Not  I  is  the  highest  proposition  in  all  science  and  art." 

*'  In  order  to  thoroughly  know  a  truth  one  must  first  have 
contended  against  it." 

"  Designation  by  sounds  and  strokes  of  the  pen  is  a  wonder- 
ful abstraction.  Four  letters  [in  English  three]  stand  for  God ; 
a  few  marks  for  millions  of  things.  How  easy  hereby  becomes 
the  manipulation  of  the  universe,  how  manifest  the  concentricity 
of  the  spiritual  world  !     Language  is  the  dynamic  of  the  spirit* 


456  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

realm.    A  word  of  command  moves  armies  ;  the  word  '  Liberty  ' 
moves  nations." 

"In  the  same  way  in  which  we  bring  the  movements  of 
thought  to  utter  themselves  in  speech,  to  express  themselves 
in  gesture,  to  stamp  themselves  in  action,  —  as  we  move  and 
stop  moving  at  will,  combine  or  particularize  our  movements,  — 
in  the  same  way  we  must  learn  to  command  the  interior  organs 
of  the  body.  .  .  .  Our  whole  body  is  capable  of  being  put  in 
motion  by  the  mind.  Witness  the  effects  of  fear,  of  terror, 
sorrow,  anger,  envy,  shame,  joy,  imagination.  There  are  ex- 
amples too  of  individuals  who  have  acquired  command  over 
particular  portions  of  the  body  which  usually  are  not  subject 
to  the  will.  In  this  way  every  one  can  be  his  own  physician, 
can  attain  complete  and  certain  knowledge  of  his  interior  con- 
dition. Then  he  will  be  entirely  independent  of  Nature  ;  will 
perhaps  be  able  even  to  restore  lost  members,  to  arrive  at  true 
conclusions  concerning  body,  soul,  life,  death,  and  the  spirit- 
world.  Perhaps  then  it  will  only  depend  on  his  volition  to 
give  life  to  stuff ;  he  will  be  able  to  command  his  senses,  to  pro- 
duce the  forms  which  he  desires,  and  in  the  properest  sense  will 
be  able  to  live  in  a  world  of  his  own ;  will  be  able  to  separate 
himself  from  his  body  when  it  seems  to  him  fit ;  to  see,  hear, 
feel,  what,  how,  and  in  what  connection,  he  chooses.'* 

"  Inoculation  with  death  will  one  day  enter  into  the  healing 
art." 

"  What  is  Nature  ?  An  encyclopaedic,  systematized  index 
or  plan  of  the  mind.  Why  will  we  content  ourselves  with  the 
bare  catalogue  of  our  possessions?  Let  us  contemplate  and 
use  the  things  themselves.  The  fate  that  oppresses  is  merely 
the  sluggishness  of  our  spirit.  By  enlargement  and  cultivation 
of  our  activity  we  can  change  ourselves  into  fate.  Everything 
seems  to  stream  in  upon  us  because  we  do  not  stream  forth. 
We  are  negative  because  we  choose  to  be.  The  more  positive 
we  become,  the  more  negative  the  world  about  us  will  be,  until 
at  last  there  will  be  no  more  negation,  and  we  shall  be  all  in 
all.     God  wants  gods." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  457 

"  All  that  we  experience  is  a  communication,  a  revelation  of 
the  Spirit.  The  time  has  gone  by  when  the  Spirit  of  God  was 
intelligible.  The  meaning  of  the  world  is  lost ;  we  have  got 
stuck  in  the  letter,  and  have  lost  the  Appearing  in  the  appear- 
ance. Formerly  everything  was  an  epiphany  of  the  Spirit ; 
now  we  see  nothing  but  dead  repetition,  which  we  do  not  under- 
stand. The  meaning  of  the  hieroglyph  is  wanting.  We  are 
living  on  the  fruit  of  better  times." 

"  All  manifestation  of  power  is  transitional ;  stationary  power 
is  matter." 

"  Perhaps  thinking  is  not  externally  operative  only  because 
it  is  a  too  rapid  or  too  enormous  force  ;  or  because  things  are 
too  good  conductors  of  the  thinking  power." 

"  Genuine  mathematics  are  the  true  element  of  the  magician." 

"  One  may  be  a  first  rate  mathematician  without  being  able 
to  cipher." 

"  Humanity  is  the  higher  sense  of  our  planet,  the  eye  which 
it  lifts  toward  heaven." 

"  As  only  spirit  is  truly  free,  so  only  spirit  can  be  forced." 

"  Nature  is  an  enemy  of  eternal  possessions.  According  to 
fixed  laws  she  destroys  all  signs  of  property.  .  .  .  The  earth  be- 
longs to  all  generations.  Each  has  a  claim  upon  all.  The 
earlier  should  derive  no  advantage  from  the  accident  of  primo- 
geniture. The  right  of  property  lapses  at  the  appointed  time. 
.  .  .  But  if  my  body  is  a  property  by  which  I  acquire  citizen- 
ship, as  a  citizen  of  earth  I  do  not,  by  the  loss  of  this  possession, 
forfeit  my  self.  I  lose  nothing  but  my  place  in  this  public 
school,  and  enter  a  higher  corporation  whither  my  beloved 
fellow-pupils  will  follow  me." 

'^  The  seat  of  the  soul  is  where  the  inner  and  the  outer  world 
meet.  ...  In  sleep,  soul  and  body  are  equally  diffused." 

"  The  greater  part  of  our  body,  of  our  human  nature  itself, 
still  sleeps." 

"  What  the  senses  are  in  animals,  leaves  and  blossoms  are  to 
plants.     Blossoms  are  allegories  of  consciousness." 

"  The  ideal  of  perfect  health  is  interesting  only  in  a  scientific 
view.     Sickness  is  necessary  to  individualization." 


458  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

"  Everything  of  itself  is  eternal.  Mortality  and  mutability 
are  precisely  a  privilege  of  higher  natures.  Perpetuity  is  a 
sign  (sit  venia  verbis)  of  beings  devoid  of  spirit.  Perfection  is 
the  synthesis  of  eternity  and  time." 

"  The  soul  is  the  most  powerful  of  all  poisons,  the  most  pene- 
trating diffusible  stimulus." 

''  Every  disease  is  a  musical  problem ;  cure  is  a  musical 
solution." 

"  Might  it  not  be  possible  to  cure  diseases  by  diseases  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  temple  in  the  world,  and  that  is  the  human 
body.  Nothing  is  more  sacred  than  this  sublime  form.  Bowing 
to  men  is  homage  rendered  to  this  revelation  in  the  flesh.  We 
touch  heaven  when  we  touch  a  human  body." 

"  Man  has  always  expressed  in  his  work,  in  his  doing  and 
abstaining,  a  symbolic  philosophy  of  his  being.  He  announces 
himself  and  his  gospel  of  Nature.  He  is  the  Messiah  of 
Nature." 

Esthetics  and  Literature. 

"  Nowhere  is  it  more  evident  that  it  is  only  mind  that  makes 
the  objects  and  changes  of  Nature  poetical,  —  that  the  beautiful, 
which  is  the  object  of  art,  is  not  given  us  ready  to  our  hand  in 
[material]  phenomena,  —  than  in  music.  All  the  tones  which 
Nature  produces  are  rude  and  unspiritual.  It  is  only  to  the 
musical  soul  that  the  rustling  of  the  forest,  the  whistling  of  the 
wind,  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  the  plashing  of  the  brook, 
seem  melodious  and  significant.  The  musician  draws  the  es- 
sence of  his  art  from  himself ;  not  the  least  suspicion  of  imita- 
tion can  attach  to  him.  To  the  painter  visible  nature  seems  to 
have  prepared  the  way,  to  be  his  unattainable  model ;  but  in 
truth  the  art  of  the  painter  is  just  as  independent,  as  much  an 
a  priori  origination,  as  the  art  of  the  musician.  Only  this  painter 
makes  use  of  an  infinitely  more  difficult  hieroglyphic  than  the 
musician.  He  paints  with  the  eye  ;  his  art  is  the  art  of  seeing 
symmetrically  and  beautifully.  Seeing  with  him  is  an  active, 
forming  power.  His  picture  is  only  his  cipher,  his  expression, 
his  instrument  of  reproduction.  .  .  .  Properly  speaking,  the  mu- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  459 

sician  also  hears  actively,  he  hears  from  himself  outward.  This 
reversed  use  of  the  senses  is,  to  be  sure,  a  mystery  to  most  men, 
but  every  artist  must  be  more  or  less  conscious  of  it  in  himself. 
Almost  every  man  has  in  this  regard  a  little  of  the  artist,  —  he 
sees  from  himself  outwardly,  and  not  from  without  inwardly. 
The  main  difference  is  this,  —  the  artist  has  vivified  the  germ  of 
that  self-moulding  life  in  his  organs,  has  increased  their  sensi- 
bility for  the  mind,  and  consequently  is  able  by  means  of  them 
to  stream  forth  ideas  at  pleasure  without  external  solicitation, 
to  use  them  as  instruments  of  any  desired  modifications  of  the 
actual  world ;  whereas  in  the  case  of  the  layman  they  only 
respond  to  some  external  provocation,  and  the  mind,  like  inert 
matter,  seems  to  be  subject,  or  to  subject  itself,  to  the  restraint 
of  the  fundamental  law  of  mechanics,  according  to  which  all 
changes  presuppose  an  external  cause,  and  action  and  reaction 
are  equal." 

"  Every  work  of  art  implies  an  a  priori  ideal,  a  necessity  in 
itself  by  which  it  exists. 

"  Sculpture  and  music  are  opposites ;  painting  forms  the  tran- 
sition from  the  one  to  the  other.  Sculpture  gives  us  the  artis- 
tically fixed  ;  music,  the  artistically  fluid." 

"  It  is  not  the  bright  tints,  the  joyous  sounds  and  the  warm 
air  that  make  the  spring  inspiring ;  it  is  the  silent  prophetic 
spirit  of  infinite  hopes,  a  forefeeling  of  glad  days,  of  the  pros- 
pering of  manifold  natures,  the  presentiment  of  higher,  eternal 
blossoms  and  fruits,  mysterious  sympathy  with  a  self-unfolding 
social  world." 

"  Goethe  is  quite  a  practical  poet ;  he  is  in  his  works  what 
the  Englishman  is  in  his  wares,  —  extremely  simple,  neat,  con- 
venient, and  durable.  He  has  done  for  German  literature  what 
Wedge  wood  has  done  for  the  English  world  of  art." 

"  Most  people  do  not  know  how  interesting  they  are,  —  what 
interesting  things  they  say.  A  true  representation  of  them- 
selves, a  record  and  estimate  of  their  sayings,  would  amaze 
them,  and  reveal  to  them  an  entirely  new  world  in  them- 
selves." 

"  In  cheerful  souls  there  is  no  wit.     Wit  indicates  a  dis- 


460  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

turbance  of  equipoise ;  it  is  a  result  of  that  disturbance,  and  a 
means  of  righting  it." 

"  Every  science  has  its  god,  and  that  god  constitutes  its 
supreme  aim  :  the  god  of  mechanics  is  perpetual  motion  ;  of 
chemistry,  a  universal  solvent ;  of  philosophy,  a  first  and  single 
principle  ;  of  mathematics,  the  quadrature  of  the  circle ;  of 
medicine,  the  elixir  of  life,  etc." 

"  An  idea  loses  surprisingly  if  I  attempt  to  stamp  it  as  my 
discovery  and  to  make  it  a  patent  idea." 

"  Striving  after  originality  is  pedantic,  coarse  egoism.  He 
who  does  not  treat  every  other  man's  thought  as  his  own,  and 
his  own  as  another's,  is  no  true  scholar." 

*'  The  act  of  transcending  self  is  everywhere  the  highest, 
the  primal  point,  the  genesis  of  life.     Flame  is  such  an  act." 

"  With  every  step  toward  perfection  the  work  leaves  its  au- 
thor, and  is  separated  from  him  by  more  than  distance  of  space. 
With  the  last  stroke  the  master  sees  what  purports  to  be  his 
own  work  separated  from  him  by  a  gulf  whose  breadth  he 
himself  can  scarcely  comprehend,  and  which  he  can  only  cross 
by  an  act  of  imagination.  ...  At  the  very  moment  when  it 
was  to  be  wholly  his  own,  it  became  more  than  he,  its  creator. 
He  became  the  unknowing  organ  and  property  of  a  higher 
power.  The  artist  belongs  to  the  work,  not  the  work  to  the 
artist." 

"  Lyric  poetry  is  the  chorus,  in  the  drama  of  life,  of  the 
world.  Lyric  poets  are  a  choir  pleasantly  compounded  of 
youth  and  age,  joy,  sympathy,  and  wisdom." 

"  The  first  man  is  the  first  ghost-seer ;  to  him  everything  ap- 
pears to  be  spirit.  What  are  children  other  than  first  men  ? 
The  fresh  glance  of  a  child  is  farther-reaching  than  the  pre- 
sentiment of  the  most  decided  seer." 

"  It  is  only  the  weakness  of  our  organs  and  our  self-contact 
which  prevent  us  from  seeing  ourselves  in  fairy  land.  All 
fairy  tales  are  only  dreams  of  that  home  which  is  everywhere 
and  nowhere.  The  higher  Powers  within  us,  which  one  day 
like  Genii  will  execute  our  will,  are  now  the  Muses  that  re- 
fresh us  with  sweet  reminiscences  in  our  toilsome  way." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  461 

"  Everything  marked  deserves  ostracism.  Well  if  it  can 
ostracize  itself.  Absolutism  must  be  expelled  from  the  world. 
While  in  the  world  one  must  live  with  the  world.  We  live  only 
when  we  live  in  the  sense  of  those  with  whom  we  live.  All 
that  is  good  in  the  world  comes  from  within,  —  to  the  world 
therefore  from  without." 

"  A  character  is  a  perfectly  formed  will." 

"  Man  consists  in  truth.  If  he  sacrifices  truth  he  sacrifices 
himself.  I  am  not  speaking  of  lies,  but  of  speaking  contrary 
to  one's  conviction." 

"  The  moral  idea  has  no  more  dangerous  rival  than  the  ideal 
of  the  greatest  strength." 

"  If  a  man  could  suddenly  believe  that  he  is  moral  he  would 
be  so." 

"  The  growth  of  our  faculty  and  knowledge  keeps  pace  with 
the  cultivation  of  our  will.  Whenever  we  are  perfectly  moral 
we  shall  be  able  to  work  miracles,  —  that  is,  when  we  no  longer 
desire  to  work  any  but  moral  ones.  The  greatest  miracle  is  a 
moral  act,  —  an  act  of  free  determination." 

'*  If  the  world  is,  as  it  were,  a  sediment  of  human  nature, 
the  divine  world  is  a  sublimation  of  the  same.  Both  take  place 
simultaneously ;  there  is  no  precipitation  without  sublimation." 

"  Imagination  places  the  world  to  come  either  in  the  heights 
or  in  the  depths,  or  in  metempsychosis.  We  dream  of  journey- 
ing through  the  Universe  :  is  not  the  Universe  within  us  ?  We 
know  not  the  deeps  of  our  own  spirit :  inward  leads  the  mys- 
terious way.  In  us  or  nowhere  is  eternity  with  its  worlds,  the 
past  and  the  future." 

"  The  reason  why  many  people  cling  to  Nature  is,  that  like 
naughty  children  they  are  afraid  of  the  father,  and  take  refuge 
with  the  mother." 

"  Nothing  is  more  essential  to  true  religiousness  than  a 
mediator  who  shall  bring  us  into  connection  with  Deity.  .  .  . 
In  the  choice  of  a  mediator  man  must  be  absolutely  free ;  the 
least  compulsion  is  injurious  to  religion.  .  .  .  The  more  self- 
subsistent  man  becomes  the  smaller  the  quantity  of  mediatorship 
[needed],  and  the  finer  the  quality,  —  fetiches,  stars,  animals, 


462  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

heroes,  idols,  gods,  a  god-man.  ...  It  is  idolatry  in  the  widest 
sense  to  view  the  mediator  as  God  himself.  It  is  irreligion  to 
acknowledge  no  mediator." 

"  Praying  is  to  religion  what  thinking  is  to  philosophy." 

"  Where  children  are,  there  is  the  golden  age." 

"  Where  there  are  no  gods,  spectres  rule." 

"  Poetry  is  the  absolutely  real :  that  is  the  core  of  my  phi- 
losophy.    The  more  poetical  the  truer." 

"  The  beautiful  is  the  visible  par  excellence. 

"  Spirit  is  forever  its  own  demonstration.  The  world  is  the 
result  of  a  reciprocal  action  between  me  and  Deity." 

"  Scepticism  is  often  only  unripe  idealism." 

"  Force  is  the  infinite  vowel,  matter  the  consonant." 

"  Illusion  is  as  essential  to  truth  as  the  body  to  the  soul. 
Error  is  the  necessary  instrument  of  truth.  With  error  I  make 
truth." 

"  We  must  needs  be  frightened  when  we  cast  a  glance 
into  the  depths  of  the  soul.  Thought  and  will  have  no 
bounds." 

"  We  ought  to  be  proud  of  pain.  All  pain  is  a  reminder  of 
our  higher  rank." 

"  Time  is  inner  space.  Space  is  external  time.  Every  body 
has  its  time,  every  time  its  body.  Space  passes  into  time,  as 
body  into  soul." 

"  Bodies  are  thoughts  precipitated  into  space." 

"  The  ground  of  creation  is  in  the  will.  Faith  is  the  action 
of  the  will  on  the  intellect.  The  power  to  believe  is  therefore 
will." 

"  Every  Englishman  is  an  island." 

"  Love  is  the  aim  of  the  world's  history ;  the  Amen  of  the 
Universe." 

"  When  our  intelligence  and  our  world  harmonize,  we  are 
like  God." 

"  Love  is  the  supreme  reality,  the  primal  ground  of  things." 

"  Too  early  and  immoderate  use  of  religion  is  exceedingly 
detrimental  to  the  growth  and  prosperity  of  human  kind,  — 
like  brandy  to  bodily  growth." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  463 

"  The  unknown,  the  mysterious,  is  the  result  and  the  begin- 
ning of  all  things.  We  can  properly  know  only  what  knows 
itself." 

"  If  we  have  real  desire  and  inclination  to  a  thing,  we  have 
genius  for  it.     Genius  reveals  itself  by  proclivity." 

"  When  one  sees  a  giant,  one  must  notice  the  position  of  the 
sun  to  see  if  it  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  pigmy." 

"  Be  men,  and  the  rights  of  man  will  come  of  themselves." 

"  The  thinking  man  will  find  truth  from  whatever  point  he 
sets  out." 

"  The  curved  line  is  the  victory  of  free  nature  over  rule." 

"  A  point  can  only  be  conceived  as  in  motion." 

"  As  long  as  there  are  brave  men  and  cowards  there  will  be 
rank." 

"  Only  the  coward  is  not  immortal." 

"  Philosophy  must  not  answer  more  than  is  asked.  Its  ori- 
gin is  feeling.  The  intuitions  of  feeling  comprehend  the  philo- 
sophical sciences." 

"  Pains  must  be  endurable  since  we  posit  them  ourselves, 
and  therefore  suffer  only  as  we  act." 

*'  Philosophy  is  only  one  half,  faith  is  the  other." 


III.  —  LUDWIG  TTECK. 

As  Novalis  was  the  fairest  blossom  of  the  Romantic 
School,  so  Tieck  may  be  termed  its  ripest  fruit ;  or, 
without  a  metaphor,  its  most  prolific  and  accomplished 
author.  There  was  a  time  when  among  the  contempo- 
rary poets  of  Germany  he  held  in  the  estimation  of 
critics  a  position  second  only  to  Goethe.  The  popularity 
he  then  enjoyed,  like  most  popularities,  was  short-lived  ; 
but  his  name  is  still  cherished,  his  works  are  read,  and 
a  high  rank  accorded  to  him  in  the  classic  literature  of 
his  country. 


464  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

The  son  of  a  cordage  manufacturer,  Ludwig  Tieck  was 
born  in  Berlin  in  1773.  Having  received  his  preparatory 
education  in  the  gymnasium  of  that  city,  he  entered  the 
University  of  Gottingen,  in  those  days  the  foremost  uni- 
versity in  Germany.  There  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
study  of  modern  literature,  and  acquired  that  familiarity 
with  Shakspeare  which  made  him,  next  to  August  W. 
Schlegel,  the  best  German  interpreter  of  the  English 
poet.  He  began  his  literary  career  at  an  early  age,  and 
pursued  it  through  sixty  years  with  untiring  activity. 
The  most  important  of  his  juvenile  productions  was  a 
novel  in  the  form  of  letters,  "  William  Lovell."  It  de- 
picts the  career  of  a  young  Englishman  of  talent  and 
fortune,  who  becomes  corrupted,  sinks  into  vice,  into 
moral  ruin,  and  ends  his  life  in  a  du-el.  The  work  is 
one  of  very  considerable  power,  but  tinged  with  the 
melancholy,  morbid  sentiment  which  characterizes  the 
author's  earlier  writings. 

In  1798  Tieck  married  Fraulein  Alberti,  the  daughter 
of  a  Lutheran  clergyman  of  Hamburg,  where  he  resided 
some  time  after  leaving  the  University.  His  transla- 
tion of  "  Don  Quixote,"  the  best  perhaps  that  has  ever 
been  made  of  that  work,  belongs  to  this  period.  In 
the  following  year  he  moved  to  Jena,  and  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  brothers  Schlegel,  of  Fichte,  Schel- 
ling,  and  Novalis,  and  was  hailed  by  the  Romanticists 
as  a  fellow-worker  and  exponent  of  their  poetic  theories. 
In  the  same  year  (1799)  he  published  his  ''  Life  and 
Death  of  St.  Genevieve,"  —  a  tragedy  in  which  the 
spirit  of  the  Romantic  School  has  found,  I  think,  its 
highest  expression.  It  is  not  adapted  for  acting,  and 
has  never  been  put  upon  the  stage,  but  it  possesses 
genuine  dramatic  interest  and  contains  passages  of  ex- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  465 

ceeding  beauty.     I  esteem  it  one  of  the  gems  of  German 
literature. 

A  companion  piece  to  the  "  Genevieve,"  exhibiting  the 
comic  side  as  that  does  the  tragic  side  of  romance,  is 
the  "  Kaiser  Octavianus,"  in  two  parts,  which  appeared 
in  1802.  Prefixed  to  it,  by  way  of  prologue,  is  a  dra- 
matic act  entitled  "Romance,"  in  which  Faith,  Love, 
Valor,  Jest,  and  Romance  are  among  the  dramatis  per- 
sonce.  These  all  unite  at  the  close  in  a  song  of  praise 
commending  the  old  romantic  time  :  — 

"  Mondbeglatizte  Zaubernacht 
Die  deii  Sinn  gefangen  halt 
Wundervolle  marchenwelt, 
Steig  auf  in  der  alten  Prach^!  "" 

"Moon-illumined  magic  Night  I 
Thought  by  thee  is  captive  taken ; 
World  of  wonder,  rise,  awaken ! 
Don  thy  ancient  splendor  bright!  " 

In  the  play  itself,  Romance  in  person  appears  again, 
and  performs  the  same  office  that  the  Chorus  does  in 
Shakspeare's  "  Henry  V."  :  — 

'*  Mir  vergonnt  dass  ich  zuweilen 
Diene  als  erzahl'nder  Chor." 

After  Jena,  Tieck  spent  some  years  in  Dresden.  In 
1805  we  find  him  in  Rome  busying  himself  in  the  Vati- 
can with  the  study  of  manuscripts  of  old  German  works, 
and  enlarging  his  acquaintance  with  mediaeval  literature. 
On  his  return,  he  took  up  his  residence  for  a  time  in 
Vienna,  then  in  Munich,  then  in  Prague.  In  1817  he 
made  a  journey  to  London.  Two  years  he  spent  in 
England,  devoting  himself  to  the  study  of  the  old  Eng- 

30 


466  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

lisli  drama  with  special  reference  to  the  antecedents  of 
Shakspeare,  and  acquired  a  more  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  ground  than  any  Englishman  of  that  day  could 
boast.  There  he  gathered  his  materials  for  his  "  Shak- 
spear's  Yorschule."  In  this  he  claims  for  Shakspeare 
the  authorship  of  the  disputed  drama, "  Arden  of  Fever- 
sham  "  a  judgment  in  which  few  English-speaking  critics 
will  agree.  Another  delightful  little  book  resulting  from 
these  studies  depicts  the  imaginary  boyhood  and  youth 
of  Shakspeare,  representing  his  appearance  at  a  fete  in 
honor  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  his  converse  with  con- 
temporary poets  in  their  tavern  orgies,  where  a  fortune- 
teller predicts  his  future  fame.  Already,  long  before 
his  visit  to  England,  Tieck  had  made  acquaintance 
with  the  plays  of  Ben  Jonson.  Among  his  earliest 
works  are  translations  of  that  poet's  "  Volpone "  and 
the  "  Epicoene." 

Returning  from  England,  he  established  himself  at 
Dresden,  intending  to  make  it  his  permanent  abode.  It 
was,  in  fact,  his  residence  for  a  longer  period  than  any 
other  of  the  many  cities  he  inhabited  in  the  course  of 
his  somewhat  nomadic  life.  Here  he  was  appointed 
dramaturg  ;  that  is,  theatre  critic  and  literary  supervisor 
of  the  Hof-theater.  Here,  too,  he  gave  lectures  and  read- 
ings, which  were  much  celebrated,  and  gathered  around 
him  the  culture  and  the  fashion  of  the  city.  As  a  reader 
he  possessed  extraordinary  vocal  gifts,  and  is  said  to  have 
been  much  in  request  in  other  cities  where  he  happened 
to  visit.  In  Weimar  he  read  in  Goethe's  house  one  of 
Goethe's  plays,  the  author  and  host  excusing  himself 
from  attending. 

In  1841  the  King  of  Prussia  invited  Tieck  to  Berlin, 
and  assigned  him  a  pension,  which  relieved  him  for  the 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  467 

remainder  of  his  days  of  all  pecuniary  burdens.  Here 
he  realized  his  long-cherished  project  of  a  Shakspeare 
theatre,  which  the  king  had  built  according  to  his  direc- 
tion. For  the  rest,  he  seems  not  to  have  occupied  in  the 
Prussian  capital  the  distinguished  position  which  he  held 
in  the  Saxon.  His  lectures,  which  the  king  had  made 
a  condition  of  his  bounty,  did  not  attract  the  gay  circles 
of  the  court,  who  sought  more  stimulating  diversion. 
His  last  years  were  years  of  seclusion  and  comparative 
neglect,  owing  in  part  to  bodily  infirmities,  and  in  part 
to  the  political  troubles  which  in  Prussia  agitated  the 
close  of  the  fifth  and  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  decade 
of  our  century.     He  died  at  the  age  of  eighty,  in  1853. 

While  in  Berlin,  and  indeed  before  he  left  Dresden, 
Tieck  had  occupied  himself  chiefly  with  writing  what  the 
Germans  call  "Novellen"  (little  novels),  something  be- 
tween a  regular  novel  (Roman)  and  a  tale  (Erzahlung). 
These  constitute  a  large  portion,  but  by  no  means  the 
better  portion,  of  his  works.  His  principal  merit,  apart 
from  the  very  great  one  of  making  his  countrymen  ac- 
quainted, by  translation  and  discussion,  with  the  literary 
riches  of  other  nations,  —  notably  the  English  and  Span- 
ish,—  consists  in  his  practical  vindication  of  the  marvel- 
lous, the  supernatural,  as  a  legitimate  element  of  fiction, 
in  opposition  to  the  tendency  and  doctrine  of  the  Auf- 
kldrung  period,  and  his  rehabilitation,  in  a  comic  sense 
and  dramatic  form,  of  the  old  popular  wonder-tales,  — 
"  Bluebeard,"  "  Fortunatus,"  "  Little  Red  Ridinghood," 
"  Puss-in-Boots,"  and  "  Tom  Thumb." 

Here  Tieck  shows  himself  in  his  most  pleasing  aspect, 
and  displays  what  seems  to  me  his  most  characteristic 
talent,  —  that  of  humorist,  including  the  genial  satirist. 


468  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

As  a  poet  in  the  narrower  sense  (as  singer  and  writer 
of  verses)  he  ranks  below  many  whom  in  other  re- 
spects,—  in  depth  of  insight  and  breadth  of  view,  in 
fancy  and  imagination,  —  he  far  excels.  His  verses  are 
deficient  in  feeling  and  tone,  in  force  and  fire.  A  good 
deal  of  skill  —  a  skill  on  which  the  author  plumed  him- 
self—  is  shown  in  the  construction  of  difficult  metres. 
Words  and  rhymes  come  readily,  —  too  readily  to  be 
select,  —  but  inspiration  is  wanting.  If  his  fame  de- 
pended on  the  lyric  compositions  with  which  his  dramas 
and  his  marchen  are  interspersed,  it  would  have  perished 
long  since.  They  are  not  the  kind  of  poems  that  abide 
in  the  memory,  or  that  any  one  would  commit  to  mem- 
ory for  love  of  them.  But  the  tales  and  the  dramas  will 
live  in  spite  of  the  verses. 

Some  of  the  best  of  these  are  embodied  in  the  "  Phan- 
tasus,"  the  work  by  whicli  Tieck  is  best  known,  and 
whose  origin  the  author  describes  in  the  preface  to  the 
first  edition  of  his  collected  works :  — 

"  In  the  leisure  of  a  country  residence  the  thought  occurred 
to  me  to  enliven  the  collection,  as  many  novelists  have  done, 
by  living  interlocutors.  This  framework,  which  might  develop 
many  things  in  the  way  of  conversation,  was  to  form  a  romance 
of  itself,  in  which  love,  abduction,  dissension,  embarrassments 
of  various  kinds,  were  to  end  with  reconciliation  and  the  mar- 
riage of  some  of  the  company." 

This  plan  was  partially  fulfilled ;  and  so  we  have  in 
the  "Phantasus"  genial  conversation  and  literary  dis- 
cussions, alternating  with  stories  and  plays  read  by 
different  members  of  a  party  of  friends  who  are  spend- 
ing a  portion  of  the  summer  at  the  country-seat  of  one 
of  the   number.      The  two  volumes  of  this   collection 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  469 

contain  the  "  Blonde  Eckbert  "  the  "  Faithful  Eckhart," 
the  "  Elf  en  "  and  other  tales,  together  with  the  drama- 
tized "  Yolksmarchen,"  already  mentioned.  And  not 
less  interesting  than  these  fictions  are  the  characters 
and  conversations  with  which  they  are  interspersed. 

Among  Tieck's  satires  is  one  entitled  Die  Denkwur- 
dige  Greschichtschronik  der  Schildhm^ger,  —  "  Chronicles 
of  the  Citizens  of  Schilda." 

Schilda  is  a  German  Utopia,  not  like  More's  and  other 
Utopias, — the  imaginary  theatre  of  an  ideal  common- 
wealth, —  but  the  imaginary  home  of  all  sorts  of  stupidi- 
ties and  absurdities,  such  as  the  ancients  imputed  to  the 
people  of  Abdera.  Tieck's  work  is  a  reproduction,  with 
new  incidents  and  new  meanings,  of  an  elder  satire  which 
he  uses  as  a  vehicle  for  his  own. 

The  following  is  a  hit  at  Kotzebue  and  the  popular 
drama  of  the  day  :  — 

"The  people  of  Schilda  were  so  noble-minded  that  they 
would  have  their  stage  to  be  an  appendage  of  the  Lazaretto,  — 
a  sanitary  institution.  They  were  conscious  of  many  faults, 
and  they  went  to  the  playhouse  to  be  cured  of  them.  For 
them  the  theatre  was  not  merely  a  place  for  the  entertainment 
of  the  imagination,  or  a  place  where  people  went  to  be  amused 
with  pleasant  trifles.  The  Schildaites  were  so  fastidious  that 
they  could  not  endure  pieces  in  which  they  would  involuntarily 
have  been  forced  to  laugh.  .  .  .  With  the  same  correct  feeling 
they  also  rejected  tragedy  proper.  It  did  not  concern  them  that 
a  king  should  lose  his  kingdom  and  pine  in  misery,  for  they  saw 
very  clearly  that  they  could  not  sympathize  with  such  woes, 
seeing  they  were  not  kings.  They  could  only  understand  cases 
where  a  man  was  burdened  with  debts,  or  afflicted  with  a  son 
who  preferred  to  squander  money  rather  than  earn  it.  Here 
their  hearts  were  open  to  tragic  impressions,  and  creditable 
tears  flowed  in  abundance.     Especially,  where  in  the  first  act 


470  HOURS   WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  brave,  industrious  Hans  is  prevented  from  marrying  the 
tender,  right-feeling,  love-breathing  Grete ;  then  the  magnani- 
mous spectators  could  not  contain  themselves  for  sympathy,  and 
there  were  instances  in  which  some  fainted  away,  and  others 
were  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  brandy  in  order  to  escape  the 
fatal  effects  of  such  strong  impressions. 

"  It  will  be  seen  by  this  what  a  high  stage  of  culture  had 
been  attained  by  these  our  ancestors,  whom  many  despise. 
They  could  look  down  with  contempt  on  those  ancient  Athe- 
nians whose  tragedies  were  so  filled  with  superstitions  and  their 
comedies  with  nonsensical  trivialities.  Whereas,  in  the  Schilda 
theatre  the  heart  and  the  understanding  of  the  citizens  were 
duly  cared  for.  There  they  were  taught  by  warning  examples 
not  to  make  forged  wills,  and  how  wrong  it  is  to  steal,  and 
the  like. 

"  Their  principal  poet,  the  one  whom  they  most  adored,  was 
named  Augustus.^  It  was  he  especially  who  introduced  the 
taste  we  have  described.  To  him  the  people  of  Schilda  were 
indebted  for  the  beautiful  device  of  having  toward  the  close  of 
the  piece  a  noble  man  appear,  who  pays  debts,  and  to  whom 
alone  it  it  is  due  that  the  spectators  could  go  home  with  light 
hearts.  He  is  also  said  to  have  been  the  first  who  cautioned 
people  against  wit,  and  showed  by  his  own  example  how  it 
could  most  easily  be  avoided.  He  is  also  said  to  have  invented 
the  '  Presidenten,'  and  genteel  villains  who  are  made  an  exam- 
ple of  in  the  interest  of  virtue  ;  so  that  integrity,  as  is  proper, 
always  comes  off  victorious  in  the  end. 

"  But  nobility  of  mind  may  sometimes  go  too  far,  and,  as  it 
were,  overleap  itself.  This  was  exemplified  in  the  case  of  the 
Schildaites.  They  carried  their  magnanimity  so  far  at  last 
that  they  read  poems  and  odes  to  their  convicts  in  order  to  re- 
claim them  from  the  paths  of  vice,  and  in  the  mildest  way  to 
convert  them  without  the  aid  of  the  gallows.  But,  strange  as 
it  may  seem,  poetry  entirely  missed  its  legitimate  effect  on  these 
hardened  natures. 

1  The  baptismal  name  of  Kotzebue. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  471 

"  The  people  of  Schilda  deposed  their  chief  magistrate  and 
established  a  democratic  government,  or  rather  a  no-govern- 
ment. They  abolished  all  laws,  for  they  argued  that  there 
could  be  no  true  virtue  where  there  was  fear  of  punishment ; 
the  really  virtuous  are  actuated  by  pure  love  of  virtue  without 
legal  constraint.  So  each  one  solemnly  promised  to  be  good 
and  great  without  compulsion. 

''  It  happened  about  that  time  that  the  king  of  the  neigh- 
boring country  was  about  to  start  on  a  journey,  which  would 
take  him  through  the  territory  of  Schilda.  These  new  re- 
publicans ascertained  the  day  when  he  would  arrive,  and  re- 
solved to  do  something  memorable  in  his  eyes.  They  held  a 
meeting,  and  agreed  that  not  the  least  honor  should  be  shown 
him,  that  they  might  give  him  to  understand  that  they  were 
freemen.  Some  one  proposed,  moreover,  that  they  should  treat 
him  somewhat  rudely,  to  show  him  that  they  were  not  slaves 
nor  the  minions  of  tyrants.  This  proposition  gave  great  satis- 
faction, and  they  prepared  themselves  by  reading  books  that 
would  inspire  them  with  the  disposition  which  becomes  free- 
men. One  of  them,  who  was  esteemed  the  wittiest,  was  commis- 
sioned to  enact  the  part  of  Diogenes,  and  to  establish  himself 
in  a  tub  in  the  market-place.  Then,  when  the  king  should 
come  and  should  permit  him  to  ask  a  favor,  he  was  to  say,  in 
the  words  of  the  Greek  sage,  'I  desire  nothing  but  that  you 
should  stand  out  of  the  sun.'  Hereby  it  would  be  made  evident 
to  the  king  what  a  miserable  creature  he  was  compared  with  a 
free-born  Schildbiirger.  The  burghers  were  delighted  with 
this  bright  idea,  and  each  man  learned  by  heart  some  genuine 
republican  speech  with  which  he  intended  to  molest  the  king. 
They  meant  to  declaim  a  great  deal  about  the  native  rights  of 
man,  his  original  freedom,  and  the  like.  They  could  scarcely, 
in  their  impatience,  await  the  day  of  his  arrival. 

"  The  day  came  at  last.  The  Schildbiirger  were  prepared ; 
the  philosophe  lay  in  his  tub  and  rehearsed  his  philosophic  speech. 
Nothing  was  wanting  but  the  appearance  of  the  king.  He  finally 
appeared.    The  first  who  were  to  address  him  were  so  frightened 


472  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

and  confused  by  his  presence,  that  they  could  not  recall  any 
adequate  principle,  or  arouse  in  themselves  any  sufficient  con- 
tempt of  tyrants.  They  stood  dumb  and  embarrassed  before 
him  ;  but  some  who  were  younger  and  bolder,  seeing  the  dis- 
tress of  their  fellow-citizens,  and  feeling  ashamed  that  such  a 
disgrace  should  befall  the  republic,  came  forward  and  attempted 
to  repair  the  failure  of  their  comrades.  They  assailed  the  king 
with  disconnected  rude  speeches  and  abuse.  He  was  unable  to 
comprehend  why  he  was  thus  honored.  When  at  last  he  was 
informed  by  some  of  the  elders  that  it  was  only  done  to  try  on 
their  new  liberty,  their  magnanimity  and  repudiation  of  the 
slavish  mind,  and  that  therefore  he  must  not  take  it  amiss,  he 
laughed  heartily.  The  Schildaites  rejoiced  to  see  the  pleasure 
he  took  in  their  republican  sentiments,  and  continued  with  in- 
creased zeal  their  patriotic  declamation.  As  he  made  no  mo- 
tion toward  the  market-place,  they  asked  him  if  he  would  not 
like  to  see  their  extraordinary  philosopher,  who  was  lying  there 
in  a  tub,  and  might  almost  be  called  divine.  The  king  fol- 
lowed them,  and  gazed  on  the  man  who  had  been  at  much 
pains  to  give  himself  a  wild  look.  He  laughed  afresh  at  the 
fellow's  odd  deportment;  whereat  one  of  the  Schildaites 
said :  — 

"  '  There,  you  see,  we  told  you  that  he  would  please  you ;  he 
has  a  strong  head,  and  is  apt  at  giving  short  profound  answers. 
You  need  only  ask  him  something  and  he  will  serve  you  out 
quick,  for  he  is  one  of  the  bright  ones ;  he  sometimes  says 
things  so  deep  that  no  one  can  understand  them.  He  will 
make  short  work  of  your  royal  dignity.  Try  him,  —  ask  him, 
for  example,  what  favor  you  can  do  him." 

"The  king,  who  was  getting  tired,  said,  'Well,  my  good 
Schildbiirger,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  ' 

"  Then  the  Schildbiirger  answered,  '  My  gracious  Mr.  King, 
give  me  a  thousand  dollars  and  you  will  make  me  and  my  fam- 
ily happy  forever.* 

"  '  You  shall  have  them,'  exclaimed  the  king.  '  I  see  your 
fellow-citizens  know  how  to  prize  you ;  you  are  certainly  the 
wisest  citizen  they  have.' 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  473 

"  *  Oh,  you  villain ! '  cried  the  Schildbiirger.  '  Is  this  the 
way  you  keep  your  promise  ?  Is  this  the  answer  you  were  to 
make,  you  traitor  ?  Sir  King,  we  declare  to  you  that  you  were 
to  be  asked  to  stand  out  of  the  sun.  That  was  what  we  had 
agreed  upon.  And  it  was  for  that,  you  villain,  that  we  had 
the  tub  made  for  you  in  which  you  can  lie  as  comfortably  as  in 
your  bed.  You  rascal,  what  has  become  of  the  getting  out  of 
the  sun  ? ' 

"  *  Just  hear  the  fools  ! '  Diogenes  exclaimed.  The  sun 
is  n't  shining ;  it  has  clouded  as  if  it  were  going  to  rain.  It 
is  n't  the  king,  it  is  you  asses,  my  fellow-citizens,  that  stand  in 
my  light.  Therefore  take  yourselves  away,  that  I  may  receive 
my  thousand  dollars  in  peace.  Do  you  think  that  because  you 
are  so  bent  on  being  fools,  there  is  not  to  be  one  sensible  man 
among  you  ? ' 

"  '  We  banish  you  from  the  land ! '  cried  the  rest. 

" '  All  right.  Mr.  King,  give  me  my  money  and  we  will 
leave  the  fools  to  themselves.' 

"  So  ended  this  memorable  day.  Diogenes  rejoiced  greatly 
that  he  had  so  improved  upon  the  role  assigned  him.  He  left 
the  country,  and  the  king  continued  his  journey  much  amused 
by  the  folly  of  the  inhabitants." 


474  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


HOFFMANN. 


OF  the  various  interests  which  supply  the  material  of 
fiction,  —  the  elements  in  human  nature  to  which 
the  literature  of  fiction  ministers,  —  there  is  none  so 
prevalent  and  none  so  persistent  as  the  love  of  the 
marvellous  ;  and  notably  of  that  form  of  the  marvellous 
which  finds  its  topics  in  a  world  beyond  the  reach  of 
known  laws,  —  the  preternatural.  The  progress  of  sci- 
entific culture  has  not  outgrown  the  delight  which  chil- 
dren find  in  fairy  tales,  or  the  shuddering  gratification 
which  riper  age  derives  from  ghost-stories  told  in  good 
faith,  —  stories  which  the  narrator  himself  believes,  or 
would  have  you  believe  that  he  believes. 

A  very  different  entertainment  is  offered  in  that  treat- 
ment of  the  preternatural  which  aims  not  to  thrill  with 
terror,  but  to  amuse  with  mild  surprise ;  which  carries 
humor  into  ghostdom  and  devildom,  and  forces  them  to 
exhibit  a  grotesque  side,  where  the  ludicrous  neutralizes 
the  horrible.  There  is  a  species  of  fiction  which  finds 
the  preternatural  in  ordinary  every-day  life,  which  places 
you  in  a  world  where  the  commonest  things  and  persons 
take  on  a  weird  character,  —  as  if  the  teapot  on  your 
breakfast  table  should  turn  up  its  nose  at  you,  or  your 
arm-chair  dance  a  minuet  in  your  study  ;  as  if  your  horse 
should  ogle  you  with  knowing  human  eyes,  suggesting  a 
metamorphosed  human  soul ;  or,  vice  versa,  your  worthy 


HOFFMANN.  475 

grocer,  with  whom  you  have  traded  these  ten  years, 
should  suddenly  put  off  his  human  disguise,  and  stand 
before  you  in  his  native  character  of  an  owl  or  an  ass. 
Many  of  us  have  read  "  Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonder- 
land." Suppose  that  wonderland  treated  as  a  reality,  not 
as  a  dream  ;  suppose  it  charged  with  an  ironical  motive, 
and  you  have  a  species  of  composition  peculiarly  German, 
and  one  in  which  the  writer  of  whom  I  am  now  to  speak 
is  a  master, — Ernst  Theodor  Wilhelm  Hoffmann,  a  man 
of  extraordinary  gifts,  but  one  of  a  class,  unhappily  too 
numerous,  whose  genius  has  been  dimmed  and  damaged 
by  moral  weakness  and  irregularity  of  life. 

A  master,  as  I  have  said,  in  his  own  peculiar  province ; 
but  that  province  is  a  low  one  ;  and  Hoffmann  was 
formed  to  excel,  if  not  in  the  highest,  yet  in  one  above 
the  level  of  mere  amusement.  There  was  in  him  the  ma- 
terial of  a  great  historian,  —  a  fine  insight  into  hidden 
cause  and  motive,  a  large  view  and  just  appreciation  of 
social  conditions,  a  searching  curiosity  and  a  rare  talent 
of  narration.  There  was  in  him  the  possibility  of  a  great 
philosophical  essayist.  In  the  line  of  music  especially, 
the  significant  remarks  we  find  scattered  through  his 
writings  authorize  the  conviction  that  no  one  was  better 
fitted  to  elaborate  a  philosophical  theory  of  that  art,  in 
which  he  was  a  practical  proficient  as  well  as  an  original 
speculator.  Music  and  musicians  are  constantly  recur- 
ring topics  in  his  romances.  The  influence  of  music  on 
a  sensitive  nature  was  a  favorite  study,  —  prompted,  no 
doubt,  by  his  own  experience  ;  and  where  that  influ- 
ence culminates  in  madness,  as  in  his  Rath  Krespel 
and  his  Kapellmeister  Kreissler,  we  perceive  in  those 
characters  the  reflection  of  a  tendency  of  which  he  was 
conscious  in  his  own  constitution. 


476  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Hoffmann  was  born  at  Konigsberg,  in  Prussia,  on  the 
24th  of  January,  1776.  His  father,  a  jurist  of  some  dis- 
tinction, held  an  office  connected  with  one  of  the  Prus- 
sian courts.  His  mother  was  sickly  and  peevish,  and 
when  Ernst,  their  second  child,  had  reached  his  fourth 
year,  his  parents  separated,  —  the  father  leaving  Konigs- 
berg, and  the  mother  seeking  refuge  in  the  house  of  her 
mother  in  that  city.  The  father  died  soon  after  at  Tn- 
sterburg,  where  he  had  held  the  office  of  Judge  of  the 
criminal  court  of  the  Oberland.  The  mother,  a  help- 
less invalid,  outlived  him  by  seventeen  years.  Ernst 
was  placed  in  the  charge  of  an  uncle  especially  unfitted 
for  that  trust,  and  of  an  aunt  who  petted  and  did  her 
best  to  spoil  him.  He  was  sent  to  the  classical  school  at 
Konigsberg,  and  in  due  season  entered  the  University 
as  a  student.  From  the  lectures  of  Kant,  who  then  filled 
the  chair  of  philosophy,  he  derived  little  profit ;  his  tastes 
inclined  to  quite  other  pursuits.  He  was  diligent  in  his 
preparation  for  the  legal  profession,  but  devoted  a  large 
portion  of  his  time  to  painting  and  music.  In  the  first- 
named  art  he  never  became  more  than  a  clever  carica- 
turist, but  in  music  he  attained  high  distinction  both  as 
composer  and  performer. 

In  1795  he  was  admitted  to  the  office  of  auscultator  in 
the  Court  of  Konigsberg.  The  duties  of  the  office  were 
light,  and  the  salary  proportionably  small.  He  devoted 
his  leisure  to  art,  and  supplemented  his  income  by  giving 
lessons  in  music.  This  employment  was  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  a  love-affair  with  one  of  his  female  pupils,  who 
seems  to  have  reciprocated  his  attachment,  but  whose  su- 
perior social  position  precluded  their  union.  The  mental 
conflict  caused  by  this  unhappy  passion  made  his  resi- 
dence in  Konigsberg  intolerable,  and  forced  him  to  seek 


HOFFMANN.  477 

refuge  in  Gross  Glogau  in  Silesia,  where  another  uncle 
gave  him  shelter  and  some  trifling  employment  in  a 
government  office  of  which  he  was  the  incumbent.  Here 
he  resided  for  the  next  two  years,  then  went  to  Berlin 
for  his  third  examination,  the  examen  rigorosum,  which 
he  passed  with  great  credit,  and  in  consequence  of  which 
he  received  the  appointment  of  assessor  to  the  Court 
of  Posen  in  South  Prussia.  In  this  Polish  city,  out  of 
reach  of  refined  society  and  intellectual  converse,  with 
none  to  sympathize  in  his  artistic  pursuits,  he  fell  into 
intemperate  habits,  which  clung  to  him  through  life. 
Here  he  found  the  wife  who  through  all  the  changes 
of  his  fortune  proved  a  faithful  helpmate,  and  to  whose 
tender  care  he  owed  the  sole  alleviation  of  the  terrible 
sufferings  of  his  last  days.  Her  name  was  Micheline 
Rorer.     Of  her  family  nothing  is  known. 

While  awaiting  at  Posen  his  expected  preferment  to 
the  rank  and  office  of  councillor,  he  amused  his  leisure 
with  drawing  caricatures,  which  a  friend  and  accomplice 
in  the  character  of  a  pedler  distributed  at  a  masquerade, 
and  in  which  the  magnates  of  the  city  were  not  pleased 
to  recognize  their  own  distorted  likenesses.  A  complaint 
of  this  outrage  was  lodged  with  the  authorities  at  Berlin, 
in  consequence  of  which  Hoffmann  was  transferred  to 
the  insignificant  town  of  Plozk,  where  he  spent  two 
dreary  years  in  what  he  regarded,  and  what  was  de- 
signed to  be,  a  penal  exile.  At  the  end  of  that  term, 
through  the  influence  of  friends,  he  was  restored  to 
favor,  and  received,  in  1804,  the  appointment  of  Rath 
at  the  Polish  capital,  Warsaw.  Here  he  found  intelli- 
gent society,  libraries,  works  of  art,  and  the  gratification 
of  all  his  tastes.  In  connection  with  his  friend  Hitzig 
he   founded   a   musical   theatre,  at  whose  concerts   he 


478  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS.      ' 

officiated  as  leader  with  great  applause.  With  the  aid  of 
wealthy  patrons  a  vacant  palace  was  purchased  for  these 
entertainments,  and  the  decoration  of  the  concert-room 
committed  to  Hoffmann  himself.  In  the  discharge  of 
this  function  he  could  not,  in  spite  of  past  experience, 
forbear  the  exercise  of  his  dangerous  art.  He  contrived 
to  introduce  in  his  decorations  caricatures  of  the  features 
of  well-known  citizens,  disguised,  however,  with  wings 
and  claws  as  griffins  and  other  fabulous  creatures.  It 
does  not  appear  that  any  mischief  came  of  it.  Mean- 
while he  was  faithful  to  all  the  requirements  of  his 
office,  and  discharged  its  duties  with  entire  satisfaction 
to  all  concerned. 

His  life  in  this  gay  capital  was  in  every  respect  pros- 
perous, and  would  in  all  likelihood  have  continued  to  be 
so  had  not  political  troubles  brought  it  to  a  sudden  close. 
It  was  the  period  of  the  Napoleonic  wars,  and  it  came  to 
pass  one  day  that  the  French,  under  the  lead  of  Murat, 
took  possession  of  the  city,  and  putting  an  end  to  Prus- 
sian rule,  cut  Hoffmann  off  from  his  place  and  its  income. 
He  was  suddenly  cast  adrift  upon  the  world.  A  little 
money  remained  to  him  from  the  proceeds  of  his  office 
and  the  distribution  among  the  officials  of  the  funds  on 
hand  of  the  court,  and  he  hoped  with  the  aid  of  his  art 
to  be  able  still  to  maintain  himself  in  the  city  so  con- 
genial to  his  taste.  But  his  art  in  those  troublous  times 
brought  no  employment.  His  small  capital  was  gradu- 
ally melting  away;  a  fit  of  sickness  accelerated  the 
process.  It  was  evident  that  he  must  either  leave  War- 
saw or  invent  another  art  than  those  he  already  pos- 
sessed, —  the  art  of  supporting  a  family  without  money. 
In  this  strait  he  sent  his  wife  and  child  to  her  relatives 
in  Posen,  and  went  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Berlin.    There 


HOFFMANN.  479 

he  could  find  no  employment  either  as  jurist,  as  painter, 
or  as  teacher  of  music.  The  little  money  he  had  left 
was  stolen  from  him.  Want  stared  him  in  the  face ;  but 
he  would  not  succumb,  and  did  not  despond.  He  adver- 
tised for  a  situation  as  director  of  music  in  some  thea- 
tre, —  for  a  time  in  vain ;  but  there  came  at  last  the  offer 
of  a  post  in  that  capacity  in  Bamberg,  in  Bavaria.  The 
patronage  was  small  and  the  compensation  meagre,  but 
nothing  better  presented  itself ;  so  he  struggled  on  for 
seven  hard  years,  until  the  concern  broke  down  for  want 
of  support,  and  left  him  where  he  was  before. 

His  next  experiment  was  a  literary  one.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  he  might  turn  his  knowledge  of  music  to 
account  by  writing  about  it.  He  applied  for  that  pur- 
pose to  the  editor  of  a  musical  journal  in  Leipsic,  and 
sent  him  a  humorous  essay  as  a  specimen  of  his  ability 
in  that  line.  It  was  a  brilliant  composition,  and  was 
fully  appreciated.  He  became  a  regular  correspondent. 
The  first  essay  was  followed  in  rapid  succession  by  oth- 
ers in  the  same  style.  They  brought  him  bread,  —  not 
abundant,  but  sufficient  for  the  present  distress.  These 
essays,  with  some  others,  were  afterward  collected  and 
published  in  two  neat  volumes,  with  the  title,  "  Fanta- 
siestiicke  in  Callot's  Manier."  Callot  was  a  French 
painter  in  a  dashing,  daring  style,  who  flourished  in 
the  seventeenth  century.  Jean  Paul  wrote  an  intro- 
duction to  the  book. 

Hoffmann's  next  move  was  another  engagement  as 
director  of  music  of  an  opera  house  in  Dresden,  which 
proved  financially  as  unsuccessful  as  that  at  Bamberg. 
War  still  raged,  and  the  people  in  that  part  of  Germany, 
crippled  and  straitened  in  their  resources,  had  little 
money  to  spare  for  theatrical  amusements.     During  his 


480  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

residence  in  Dresden  the  city  was  bombarded  by  the 
French  on  the  26th  of  August,  1813,  and  Hoffmann 
noted  in  his  diary  some  of  the  incidents  witnessed  and 
the  dangers  experienced  on  that  occasion.    He  writes : 

"  Early  in  the  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  thunder  of 
cannon.  I  immediately  hastened  to  the  garret  of  the  neighbor- 
ing house,  and  saw  that  the  French  had  thrown  up  a  battery  at  a 
short  distance  from  our  intrenchments,  and  were  hotly  engaged 
with  the  enemy's  battery  at  the  foot  of  the  hills.  .  .  .  Tidings 
came  that  the  Emperor  [Napoleon]  would  arrive.  I  therefore 
hastened  to  Briihl's  terrace  by  the  great  bridge.  At  eleven 
o'clock  he  came,  riding  on  a  small  sorrel  horse,  rapidly  across 
the  bridge.  There  was  a  dead  silence  among  the  crowd.  He 
tossed  his  head  vehemently  this  way  and  that,  with  an  air  which 
I  had  never  noticed  in  him  before.  He  rode  up  to  the  Castle, 
dismounted  for  a  few  seconds,  then  rode  back  again  to  the 
bridge,  where  he  halted,  surrounded  by  several  of  his  marshals. 
Adjutants  galloped  back  and  forth  and  received  their  orders, 
which  he  gave  in  brief  words  with  a  very  loud  voice.  He  was 
constantly  taking  snuff  and  looking  through  a  small  pocket- 
glass  down  the  Elbe.  ...  I  had  to  leave  because  the  terrace 
was  occupied  by  the  soldiery,  and  returned  to  my  observa- 
tory. Between  four  and  five  o'clock  the  cannonading  became 
most  violent,  —  stroke  upon  stroke ;  one  could  hear  the  balls 
whistle.  People  would  not  believe  it ;  but  soon  a  party- 
wall,  at  a  distance  of  not  more  than  twenty-five  paces,  fell 
struck  by  a  ball.  Then  it  was  evident  that  the  fire  was  directed 
against  the  city.  Our  position  was  becoming  unsafe,  and  we 
hastened  to  leave  it.  I  was  just  about  to  enter  the  door  of  my 
house,  when  a  grenade  whistled  and  rattled  above  my  head  and 
fell  at  a  distance  of  only  fifteen  paces,  between  four  wag- 
ous  filled  with  powder  and  just  ready  to  start,  and  burst,  so 
that  the  horses  reared  and  ran.  At  least  thirty  people  were 
standing  near ;  but  not  only  did  the  powder-wagons,  whose  ex- 
plosion would  have  annihilated  that  quarter  of  the  city,  escape, 


HOFFMANN.  481 

but  not  a  man  or  a  horse  was  injured.  It  is  inconceivable 
what  became  of  the  fragments,  since  only  a  small  one  was 
found,  which  had  struck  a  shutter  in  the  lower  story  and  fallen 
into  an  unoccupied  room." 

He  proceeds  to  relate  how  the  shells  fell  thicker  and 
thicker :  — 

"  I  crept  through  a  back  street  to  the  house  of  the  actor 
Keller,  who  lived  on  the  Neumarkt.  We  were  looking  very 
comfortably  out  of  the  window,  each  a  glass  in  his  hand,  when  a 
shell  fell  and  burst  in  the  midst  of  the  market-place.  A  West- 
phalian  soldier,  who  was  pumping  water,  fell  dead  with  shat- 
tered head,  and  at  some  distance  from  him  a  decently  dressed 
citizen,  who  attempted  to  rise,  but  his  bowels  were  torn  away, 
and  he  fell  down  dead.  Three  more  were  wounded  by  the  same 
grenade.  Keller  let  his  glass  fall,  but  I  drank  mine,  saying, 
*  What  is  life  ?  Human  nature  is  too  weak  to  endure  a  bit  of 
hot  iron  ! '  " 

On  the  29th  he  writes  :  "  To-day,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life,  I  saw  a  battle-field,"  and  proceeds  to  describe  in 
vivid  language  the  ghastly  sights  which  met  his  gaze, — 
horrors  which  I  gladly  pass  by.  On  the  30th  he  once 
more  encountered  the  Emperor,  "  who  had  a  terrible 
tyrannical  look,  and  with  the  voice  of  a  lion  roared  to 
an  accompanying  adjutant,  '  Voyons ! '  "  On  the  22d 
of  October,  — "  The  Emperor  is  beaten,  and  retreats  in 
the  direction  of  Erfurt.  So  I  have  a  well-grounded  hope 
of  the  best  and  pleasantest  life,  —  a  life  devoted  to  art ; 
and  all  my  trouble  will  be  ended." 

His  hope  of  better  days  was  realized,  though  not  in 
the  way  he  had  expected.  The  year  from  the  close  of 
1813  to  1815  had  been  on  the  whole  the  most  trying  of 
his  struggling  and  eventful  life.  But  the  fall  of  Napo- 
leon, which  brought  deliverance  to  Prussia,  opened  to 

31 


482  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

him  a  new  career  of  professional  employment.  He  had 
not  intended  to  resume  the  practice  of  law ;  but  in  1815, 
through  the  influence  of  friends,  he  received  the  condi- 
tional offer,  and  in  1816  the  appointment,  of  Councillor 
in  the  Kammergericht  (Court  of  Exchequer)  in  Berlin. 
This  post,  which  secured  him  a  competence,  was  too 
tempting  to  be  refused.  His  wanderings  were  ended, 
and  Berlin  became  thenceforth  his  pei^manent  abode. 
In  the  same  year  his  opera  "  Undine  "  was  brought  upon 
the  stage  with  great  splendor  and  corresponding  suc- 
cess, and  secured  to  him  not  only  immense  popularity 
but  solid  fame  as  a  musical  composer. 

His  "  Fantasiestiicke "  and  other  productions  had  al- 
ready established  his  reputation  as  a  writer.  He  was  a 
man  of  mark  —  of  foremost  mark  —  in  Berlin  at  that 
time.  Now  at  length,  after  so  many  hardships  and  re- 
verses, his  fortunes  were  established  on  a  firm  founda- 
tion. His  salary  was  ample,  his  music  was  popular,  his 
literary  efforts  successful,  his  pen  in  universal  demand. 
Nothing  was  wanting  to  his  happiness  but  certain  moral 
qualities,  on  which  at  last  all  happiness  depends.  Ad- 
versity had  been  his  salvation,  —  prosperity  proved  his 
ruin.  To  one  of  his  sensitive  organization  excitement 
of  one  kind  or  another  was  a  prime  necessity,  —  social 
excitement,  free  scope  for  his  social  gifts  and  conversa- 
tional powers.  Some  natures  would  have  found  it  in 
the  literary  and  aesthetic  tea-parties  with  which  Berlin 
then  abounded,  —  entertainments  given  by  persons  who 
made  pretension  to  culture,  and  invited  to  their  salons 
the  lions  of  the  day,  partly  for  gratification  of  an  idle 
curiosity,  and  partly  for  the  lustre  reflected  on  the  host 
by  the  celebrity  of  the  guest.  To  have  it  to  say  that 
last  evening  Mr.  this  or  Mr.  that  was  with  us,  or  to  be 


HOFFMANN,  483 

able  to  quote,  as  if  proceeding  from  familiar  acquaint- 
ance, any  saying  one  had  heard  from  the  lion  of  the  day, 
was  full  compensation  for  any  outlay  of  tea  and  cake 
rnd  wax-lights.  Hoffmann  as  a  first-class  lion  was  much 
in  request  for  such  uses.  But  Hoffmann  was  not  at 
all  the  man  to  be  lionized.     His  biographer  says :  — 

"Two  things  were  wanting  to  him  for  enjoyment,  or  even 
endurance,  of  these  tea-parties,  —  petty  vanity  and  good-nature. 
His  vanity,  if  such  it  might  be  called,  was  of  more  colossal  pro- 
portions. The  intelligent  tribute  of  his  peers  might  gratify 
him,  but  the  commonplace  conventional  flatteries  of  the  incom- 
petent he  detested,  and  was  not  good-natured  enough  to  dissem- 
ble his  contempt.  The  talk  of  these  half-cultivated,  would-be 
connoisseurs  was  a  weariness  to  his  soul,  and  he  treated  it  ac- 
cordingly. He  was  rude,  he  was  brutal,  —  a  bear  in  the  sheep- 
fold,  an  eagle  in  a  dove-cote.  If  one  ventured  an  opinion  on 
some  literary  topic  and  expected  his  acquiescence,  he  would  either 
stare  at  the  speaker  and  make  no  reply,  or  address  his  answer 
—  a  contemptuous  one — not  to  the  speaker  himself,  but  to  an- 
other standing  by.  The  gushing  enthusiast  who  looked  to  him 
for  sympathy  in  matters  of  art  was  met  by  a  remark  about  the 
weather.  They  prated  to  him  of  music,  of  which  they  knew 
nothing  while  he  knew  everything,  and  he  yawned  in  their 
faces.  Worst  of  all,  when  young  ladies  were  solicited  to  play 
and  sing  for  his  entertainment,  and  he  was  expected  to  express 
his  delight,  he  was  obstinately  dumb;  and  when  the  enter- 
tainment was  protracted,  he  testified  with  hideous  grimaces  his 
impatience  of  the  scene.  It  followed,  of  course,  that  the  lion- 
hunters  soon  gave  up  the  pursuit  in  despair  of  such  impracti- 
cable game.  The  invitations  ceased,  and  Hoffmann  sought 
more  congenial  entertainment  in  a  circle  of  roystering  com- 
panions, where  the  wit  flowed  freely,  and  more  freely  still  the 
wine." 

Then  began  a  period  of  swift  decline.  Nights  spent  in 
carousal,  while  they  wasted  the  vital  forces,  undermined 


484  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  moral  constitution  no  less.  Yet  Hoffmann,  his  biog- 
rapher tells  us,  was  no  vulgar  toper,  not  one  of  those 
who  drink  for  sensual  gratification,  and  drink  till  they 
are  drunk.  He  drank  only  to  get  himself  "  mounted,"  as 
he  termed  it ;  that  is,  to  put  himself  in  condition  to  take 
the  lead  in  the  converse  of  wit.  He  drank  for  inspiration ; 
and  when  it  came,  when  fairly  mounted,  he  charmed  his 
hearers  hour  after  hour  with  the  flow  and  sparkle  of  his 
discourse.  But  the  quantity  needed  for  this  at  the  out- 
set soon  ceased  to  suffice.  Ever  more  liberal  potations 
were  required  to  produce  the  desired  effect.  Nor  could 
these  nodes  ambro stance  replace,  they  rather  increased, 
the  loss  of  brain  power  caused  by  the  intellectual  labors 
of  the  day.  Only  sleep  could  restore  that  loss,  and  sleep 
with  him  was  reduced  to  two  or  three  hours.  The  candle, 
as  we  say,  was  lighted  at  both  ends  ;  he  lived  on  the  gal- 
lop, and  of  such  a  life  the  term  is  short. 

Remarkable  it  is  that  his  legal  duties  were  not  in- 
fringed, nor  his  legal  performances  impaired,  by  this  wild 
living.  He  was  always  in  his  place  in  court,  and  his 
written  decisions  remain  to  this  day  models  of  conscien- 
tious investigation,  clear  judgment,  forcible  argument, 
and  luminous  statement.  Meanwhile  his  literary  activ- 
ity continued.  He  gave  forth  in  rapid  succession  his 
"  Nachtstiicke,"  his  Dialogue  between  two  Theater-man- 
agers, his  "  Master  Flea,"  his  "  Tomcat  Murr's  Views  of 
Life,"  his  "  Princess  Brambilla,"  his  "  Kleine  Zaches," 
and,  one  after  another,  the  four  volumes  of  his  "  Sera- 
pionsbriider."  The  last-named  work  owed  its  origin  to 
the  kind  endeavor  of  his  friend  Hitzig  to  wean  him  in 
some  measure  from  his  boon  companions  of  the  tavern, 
by  providing  intellectual  entertainment  accompanied  with 
less  ruinous  conditions.     Two  other  friends,  Korieff  and 


HOFFMANN.  485 

Contessa,  men  of  high  culture  and  genial  spirit,  met  by 
Hitzig's  suggestion,  as  if  accidentally,  at  Hoffmann's  lodg- 
ings one  evening,  where,  after  a  conversation  which  made 
him  forget  his  customary  orgies,  the  proposition  was 
made,  as  pre-arranged  by  the  visitors,  that  they  should 
come  together  in  the  same  way  one  evening  every  week, 
for  conversation,  and  the  reading  and  criticising  of  some 
composition  which  one  of  the  four  was  to  furnish  for  the 
common"  entertainment.  It  was  an  enterprise  part  lit- 
erary, part  social,  after  the  fashion  of  the  "  Decameron  " 
or  the  newer  example  of  Tieck's  "  Phantasus."  It  took 
its  name, ''  Serapion  Brothers,"  from  the  day  on  which 
the  friends  met,  which  happened,  according  to  Madam 
Hoffmann's  Polish  calendar,  to  be  the  day  assigned  to 
Saint  Serapion.  Our  author  makes  out  another  reason 
for  the  name,  which  the  reader  will  find  in  the  introduc- 
tory narrative. 

In  the  spring  of  1820  Hoffmann,  whose  deepest  passion 
was  music,  was  enraptured  by  a  letter  from  the  great 
composer  Beethoven,  to  whom  he  had  never  written, 
whom  he  knew  only  through  his  works.  The  modesty 
of  this  little  missive  is  very  pleasing,  and  the  sending  of 
it  by  one  who  wrote  so  little  and  was  so  reserved  is  a 
proof  of  the  high  estimation  in  which  Hoffmann  was  held 
by  the  musical  world. 

Vienna,  March  23,  1820. 
I  seize  the  opportunity  afforded  by  Herr  N.  of  approaching  a 
man  of  such  a  genius  as  yours.  Concerning  my  littleness  also 
you  have  written,  and  our  Herr  N.  showed  me  in  his  album  some 
lines  from  you  concerning  me.  You  therefore,  I  must  suppose, 
take  some  interest  in  me.  Allow  me  to  say  that  this  from  one  like 
you,  a  man  of  such  distinguished  endowments,  is  very  gratifying. 
I  wish  you  all  that  is  beautiful  and  good,  and  I  am,  with  high 
esteem,  your  Wellborn's  most  devoted  Beethoven. 


486  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

In  the  same  year  appeared  the  first  volume  of  "  Kater 
Murr's  Lebensansichten."  The  hero  of  this  work  is  an 
imaginary  character,  a  musician,  by  name  Kreissler,  in 
whom  the  author  has  depicted  his  own  aspirations  and 
feelings,  his  humor  and  his  experiences.  It  is  in  short 
a  reflection  of  himself,  and  was  therefore  the  work  on 
which  of  all  his  productions  he  set  the  highest  value. 
Two  volumes  only  were  finished.  The  third  was  to  have 
shown  the  unfortunate  musician  driven  to  insanity  by  the 
shattered  illusions  and  disappointments  of  life,  and  was 
to  have  closed  by  way  of  supplement  with  "  Lucid  Inter- 
vals of  a  Mad  Musician." 

The  title  "  Tomcat  Murr  "  was  suggested  by  a  pet  cat 
of  the  author,  a  beautiful  creature  that  occupied  a  drawer 
of  his  writing-table,  which  it  opened  with  its  paws,  and 
where  it  lay  on  the  top  of  his  papers.  He  was  never 
tired  of  relating  instances  of  the  exceptional  intelligence 
of  this  wonderful  animal ;  and  when  Murr  died,  his 
master  sent  his  friend  Hitzig  a  bulletin  card  with  these 
words  :  — 

In  the  night  of  the  29th  of  November  my  beloved  pupil, 
the  Kater  Murr,  after  brief  but  severe  suffering,  passed  on  to 
a  better  life,  in  the  fourth  year  of  his  hopeful  age.  I  hasten 
humbly  to  communicate  the  intelligence  to  sympathizing  patrons 
and  friends.  All  who  knew  the  youth,  now  in  eternity,  will 
justify  my  profound  grief,  and  honor  it  with  silence. 

Hoffmann. 

No  one,  says  Hitzig,  will  be  surprised  at  this  jest  who 
knows  how  closely  connected  were  jest  and  grief  in  Hoff- 
mann's nature.  In  fact  the  loss  was  a  real  affliction,  and 
he  described  to  his  friend  with  tears  the  creature's  death, 
how  piteously  he  moaned,  and  how  beseechingly  he  looked 


HOFFMANN.  487 

into  his  master's  eyes  for  sympathy  and  aid.  "  Now  there 
is  a  void  in  the  house  for  my  wife  and  me." 

Hoffmann's  last  birthday,  January  24, 1822,  was  glad- 
dened by  a  visit  from  an  old  schoolmate,  Hippel,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  since  their  school-boy  days.  On  this  occa- 
sion he  entertained  a  party  of  several  friends  with  his 
usual  hospitality. 

But  already  the  grasp  of  disease  was  on  him.  He  no 
longer  circulated  as  formerly  among  his  guests,  filling 
their  glasses  with  his  own  hand,  but  kept  his  seat,  and 
while  serving  them  with  costly  wines,  drank  only  water. 
In  the  course  of  the  conversation  something  was  said 
about  death,  and  one  of  the  guests  incidentally  remarked 
that  life  is  not  the  greatest  good,  whereupon  Hoffmann 
broke  in  with  great  vehemence,  "  No,  no  !  Life,  life  !  — 
let  me  but  live  under  whatever  conditions  ! "  Hitzig  says, 
"  There  was  something  terrible  in  the  way  in  which  he 
ejaculated  these  words,  and  fearfully  his  wish  was  ful- 
filled." He  continued  to  live  for  five  months  longer,  but 
under  what  conditions  !  Day  by  day  one  after  another 
of  his  bodily  organs  refused  its  service.  The  disease 
known  as  tabes  dorsalis,  consumption  of  the  spinal  mar- 
row, developed  itself ;  the  life  departed  from  his  hands 
and  feet  and  other  portions  of  his  system.  He  suffered 
frightfully,  but  his  brain  was  still  active ;  he  clung  to  life, 
and  inferred  from  the  soundness  of  the  principal  organ 
the  recovery  of  all  the  rest.  In  this  condition  he  dic- 
tated some  of  his  best  compositions,  several  characteristic 
essays  afterward  published,  and  —  what  is  more  remark- 
able —  in  the  last  weeks  of  his  life  a  legal  decision  of  a 
very  difficult  and  important  case  of  contested  copyright, 
evincing  a  professional  judgment  as  clear  and  sound  as 
in  his  best  days.     On  the  21st  of  June  the  symptoms  of 


488  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

approaching  death  began  to  show  themselves  in  his  in- 
ability to  take  nourishment.  He  had  previously  under- 
gone the  painful  operation  of  cautery.  On  the  24th j  the 
disease  having  done  its  work,  he  ceased  to  suffer  pain. 
This  he  hailed  as  a  promise  of  recovery,  and  said  to  his 
physician,  "  It  will  soon  be  over  now,  will  it  not  ?  "  In 
a  very  different  sense  the  physician  answered,  "  Yes,  it 
will  soon  be  over."  On  the  evening  of  the  25th  he 
wished  to  resume  the  dictation  of  his  unfinished  story, 
entitled  "  Der  Feind,"  and  asked  to  have  the  sentence 
read  to  him  at  which  he  had  left  off.  His  wife  dissuaded 
him ;  then  he  had  himself  turned  with  his  face  to  the 
wall.  The  death-rattle  was  in  his  throat ;  and  when 
Hitzig  was  sent  for,  his  friend  was  gone. 

We  perceive,  in  this  life  of  forty-six  years,  an  example 
of  the  influence  of  hereditary  taint, — a  nature  pre-doomed 
by  the  consequences,  direct  and  indirect,  of  parental 
misfortune  and  parental  guilt.  A  sickly  and  querulous 
mother  entails  a  morbid  temperament  on  a  son  of  whose 
childhood  she  is  physically  and  morally  disqualified  to 
undertake  the  charge.  Abandoned  by  a  selfish  and 
unscrupulous  father,  he  is  delivered  over  to  a  formal 
pedantic  uncle,  utterly  unable  to  comprehend  the  nature 
and  needs  of  the  boy,  and  an  over-indulgent  aunt. 

Unfortified  by  wholesome  discipline,  as  a  student  left 
to  his  own  devices,  he  is  saved  from  moral  ruin  partly 
through  absence  of  external  temptation,  and  partly  by 
intellectual  appetites  and  a  passion  for  music  which 
furnished  occupation  for  his  leisure  hours.  Notwith- 
standing the  disadvantages  of  an  inauspicious  youth,  he 
brings  into  manhood  a  force  of  resolution  sufficient  to 
accomplish  by  arduous  study  his  preparation  for  profes- 


HOFFMANN,  489 

sional  life.  He  acquits  himself  with  honor  when  exam- 
ined for  his  degree.  He  afterward  breaks  through  the 
entanglement  of  a  hopeless  passion  by  resolutely  quit- 
ting his  native  city.  When  calamity  befalls  and  want 
threatens,  he  proves  himself  equal  to  every  exigency  ; 
fights  battle  after  battle  with  adversity,  and  comes  off 
victorious.  But  when  at  last  his  hard  struggles  and 
patient  waiting  are  crowned  with  full  prosperity  and 
all  his  wishes  are  gratified,  the  latent  evil  in  his  nature 
breaks  forth,  debases  his  life,  and  drags  him  through 
frightful  suffering  to  premature  death. 

That  Hoffmann  in  early  life  was  not  wanting  in  self- 
control,  appears  from  the  constancy  with  which  he  kept 
his  vow  to  abstain  from  gambling  after  his  first  and  only 
attempt  in  that  line,  —  an  attempt  which  was  crowned 
with  extraordinary  success.  During  his  self-imposed 
exile  at  Glogau  he  accompanied  a  friend  to  a  watering- 
place,  and  while  there,  at  his  friend's  request,  staked  a 
sum  of  money  which  he  handed  him  at  a  gaming-table. 
Having  been  successful  in  his  friend's  service,  it  occurred 
to  Hoffmann  the  next  evening  to  experiment  on  his  own 
account.     He  shall  tell  the  story  himself :  — 

"  If  yesterday  fortune  favored  me,  to-day  it  seemed  as  if  some 
mighty  spirit  whom  chance  obeyed  was  in  league  with  me.  I 
might  turn  the  cards  as  I  pleased,  not  a  card  missed.  .  .  .  My 
senses  reeled;  often,  while  fresh  gold  poured  in  upon  me,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  were  in  a  dream,  and  would  immediately  awake 
when  I  thought  to  pocket  my  gains.  At  the  stroke  of  two  the 
play,  as  is  customary,  stopped.  At  the  moment  when  I  was 
about  to  leave  the  hall,  an  old  officer  seized  me  by  the  shoul- 
der, and  fixing  a  grave,  severe  look  upon  me,  said :  *  Young 
man,  if  you  had  understood  the  game,  you  might  have  broken 
the  bank ;  but  when  you  come  to  understand  it,  the  Devil  will 
get  you  as  he  has  done  all  the  rest.'     Therewith  he  left  me, 


490  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

without  waiting  to  hear  what  I  might  say  in  reply.  The  morn- 
ing had  already  dawned  when  I  reached  my  chamber,  and  from 
all  my  pockets  I  poured  out  the  gold  on  the  table.  Imagine 
the  sensation  of  a  youth,  who  in  utter  dependence,  having  been 
restricted  to  a  meagre  allowance  of  pocket-money,  finds  him- 
self suddenly,  as  if  by  a  stroke  of  magic,  in  possession  of  a  sum 
so  large  as  for  the  moment  to  be  regarded  as  a  fortune.  But 
while  I  gazed  at  the  gold-heap,  my  mind  was  suddenly  seized 
with  an  anxiety,  a  distress  which  covered  me  with  a  cold  death- 
sweat.  The  words  of  the  old  ofiicer  now  revealed  to  me  the 
most  terrible  significance.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  gold  that 
glittered  on  the  table  were  the  earnest-money  wherewith  the 
Dark  Power  had  purchased  my  soul,  which  now  could  not 
escape  perdition.  The  blossom  of  m}^  life  seemed  to  be  gnawed 
by  a  venomous  worm,  and  I  sank  into  deadly  despair.  Then 
flamed  the  morning  higher  from  behind  the  mountains.  I 
crouched  before  the  window ;  I  gazed  with  fervent  longing  to- 
ward the  sun,  before  whose  coming  the  dark  spirits  of  the  night 
must  flee.  And  when  field  and  wood  gleamed  in  the  golden 
rays,  it  was  also  day  once  more  in  my  soul.  There  came  to 
me  the  blessed  feeling  of  strength  to  resist  every  temptation, 
and  to  guard  my  life  from  that  demonic  course  in  which,  sooner 
or  later,  it  must  irrevocably  perish.  I  vowed  to  myself,  by  all 
that  is  holiest,  never  to  touch  another  card,  and  I  have  strictly 
kept  my  vow." 

Hoffmann's  biographer  testifies  that  he  never  played 
again. 

I  place  Hoffmann  very  high,  so  far  as  native  gifts  are 
concerned,  among  the  writers  of  Germany.  In  wealth 
of  imagination,  in  force  of  conception,  and  the  faculty  of 
presentation  he  has  few  equals.  In  caustic  humor  he  also 
excels.  But  the  morbid  spirit,  the  fantastic  character,  the 
hizarrerie  of  so  much  of  his  writing  has  tended  to  dimin- 
ish the  estimation  which  would  otherwise  be  accorded  to 
him.     It  would  be,  however,  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 


HOFFMANN.  491 

all  his  productions  are  infected  with  this  vicious  element. 
Some  of  them  are  wholly  free  from  it ;  they  owe  nothing 
of  their  interest  to  the  preternatural.  They  rest  on  solid 
human  ground,  —  on  the  physically  possible,  sometimes, 
as  in  the  case  of  "  The  Fraulein  Scuderi,"  —  on  historic 
fact,  and  are  models  of  sprightly  and  engaging  narrative. 
Nevertheless,  it  must  be  conceded  that  the  characteristic 
things  of  Hoffmann  are  those  wild  fictions  of  impossible 
beings  and  impossible  transactions,  those  tales  of  dia- 
blerie, with  which  his  name,  ever  since  the  publication 
of  the  "  Fantasiestiicke,"  has  been  identified,  —  the 
"  Golden  Pot,"  the  '•  Sandman,"  "•  Master  Flea,"  the 
"  Little  Zaccheus,"  and  others. 

Of  the  "  Fantasiestlicke,"  one  of  the  most  character- 
istic in  its  mixture  of  sorcery  and  irony,  is  the  story  of 
the  "  Lost  Looking-glass  Image,"  the  idea  of  which  was 
suggested  by  Chamisso's  "  Peter  Schlemihl,"  but  is 
worked  up  in  Hoffmann's  own  peculiar  way.  An  honest 
German,  Erasmus  Spikher,  who  has  always  been  dream- 
ing of  Italy,  has  saved  money  enough  to  realize  his 
dream  and  starts  for  Florence,  leaving  a  wife  and  their 
little  'Rasmus  at  home.  The  dear  pious  housewife  shed 
a  thousand  tears  at  parting;  she  lifted  little  'Rasmus, 
after  carefully  wiping  his  nose  and  mouth,  into  the  car- 
riage to  receive  the  father's  last  kiss.  "Farewell,  my 
dear  Erasmus  Spikher  ! "  said  the  sobbing  wife.  *'  I  will 
take  good  care  of  the  house ;  think  of  me  often,  remain 
faithful,  and  don't  lose  your  handsome  travelling-cap  out 
of  the  window  when  you  nod  in  your  sleep,  as  you  are 
apt  to  do."     Spikher  promised. 

In  Florence  he  falls  into  bad  company,  and,  forgetful 
of  his  domestic  obligations,  becomes  desperately  enam- 
oured of  one  Giulietta,  who  encourages  his  passion,  but 


492  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

who,  it  seems,  is  leagued  with  a  certain  mysterious  per- 
sonage. Dr.  Dappertutto,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  Mephisto- 
pheles,  and  lies  in  wait  to  capture  souls.  At  an  evening 
entertainment  it  has  been  contrived  that  Spikher  shall 
be  insulted  by  a  young  Italian,  who  mocks  at  his  Ger- 
man ways.  An  altercation  ensues ;  they  come  to  blows, 
and  the  German  unintentionally  kills  his  adversary. 
He  is  obliged  to  flee,  but  before  leaving  the  country 
seeks  a  final  interview  with  Giulietta.  "  Ah,  Erasmus, 
too  soon  you  will  forget  me ! "  she  murmurs.  "  Oh, 
could  I  be  wholly  and  forever  yours ! "  he  replies.  They 
were  standing  before  a  beautiful  broad  mirror,  let  into 
the  wall  of  the  cabinet,  and  brilliantly  lighted  with  ta- 
pers on  each  side.  Giulietta,  with  her  arm  around  her 
lover,  whispers,  "  Leave  me  your  looking-glass  image, 
my  beloved ;  it  shall  be  mine,  and  remain  with  me  for- 
ever." He  is  taken  a-back  by  this  somewhat  unusual 
request,  and  hesitates.  "  What,  you  grudge  me  even  this 
dream  of  your  Ich  ?  —  you  who  wanted  to  be  mine  with 
your  body  and  life !  Not  even  your  unstable  image  is  to 
remain  with  me  and  accompany  me  through  my  hence- 
forth desolate  life."  Spikher  cannot  resist  the  appeal, 
Jie  gives  his  consent.  She  stretched  her  arms  longingly 
toward  the  looking-glass.  Erasmus  saw  his  image 
come  forth  independent  of  his  movements ;  he  saw  it 
glide  into  Giulietta's  arms,  who  disappeared  with  it, 
leaving  a  peculiar  odor  behind.  He  heard  all  manner  of 
hateful  voices  sniggering  and  laughing  in  devilish  mock- 
ery. Seized  with  the  death-cramp  of  the  deepest  horror, 
he  sank  senseless  to  the  ground ;  but  a  fearful  anxiety 
aroused  him  from  this  torpor.  In  thick  darkness  he 
reeled  out  of  the  door  and  down  the  stairs  into  the 
street.    There  he  encountered  Dappertutto,  who,  pretend- 


HOFFMANN.  493 

ing  ignorance,  affects  to  condole  with  him  and  to  show 
him  how  he  may  escape  the  officers  of  justice  and  con- 
tinue to  enjoy  Giulietta's  society.  He  proposes  a  means 
by  which  the  lover  can  present  at  any  moment  a  differ- 
ent appearance,  and  so  baffle  his  pursuers. 

"  As  soon  as  it  is  day,  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  look 
long  and  attentively  in  some  looking-glass.  I  will  then  perform 
certain  operations  with  your  looking-glass  image,  which  will  not 
injure  it,  and  you  are  safe.' 

"  *  Terrible,  terrible ! '  cried  Erasmus. 

"  '  What  is  terrible,  most  worthy  sir  ?  '  he  asked  mockingly. 

"  *  Alas !  I  have  —  I  have  —  '  his  victim  stuttered. 

"  *  You  have  left  your  image  with  Giulietta.  Bravissimo, 
dearest !  Now  you  can  run  through  fields  and  woods,  through 
cities  and  villages,  till  you  have  found  your  wife  with  little 
'Rasmus,  and  be  once  more  the  father  of  a  family,  although 
without  a  looking-glass  image.  Your  wife  will  not  care  much 
for  that  when  she  has  you  bodily,  and  Giulietta  only  your  shin- 
ing dream  =  I.' 

"  '  Cease,  terrible  man  ! '  cried  Erasmus. 

He  tears  himself  away,  and  succeeds  in  making  his  es- 
cape from  Italy.  On  his  way  home  he  has  many  adven- 
tures, the  most  remarkable  of  which  is  one  by  which  he 
is  first  made  painfully  aware  of  what  he  has  sacrificed. 
He  has  stopped  to  rest  in  a  large  city,  and  anticipating 
no  evil  takes  his  place  with  other  guests  at  the  table 
cThote  of  his  hotel,  not  perceiving  that  there  is  a  large 
mirror  opposite  him.  A  waiter  who  stood  behind  his 
chair  became  aware  that  the  chair  reflected  in  the  mir- 
ror across  the  table  had  no  occupant.  He  communi- 
cated his  discovery  to  Erasmus's  neighbor,  and  he  to  his. 
It  ran  round  the  table ;  there  was  a  murmuring  and  a 
whispering ;  they  looked  at  Erasmus  and  then  into  the 


494  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

mirror.  As  yet  he  had  not  perceived  that  he  was  the 
object  of  these  communications,  when  a  man  of  grave 
demeanor  rose  from  the  table,  led  him  to  the  mirror, 
looked  in,  and  then  turning  to  the  company,  exclaimed, 
"  It  is  actually  true,  —  he  has  no  looking-glass  image." 
"  He  has  no  looking-glass  image ! "  they  all  cried  out. 
''  A  mauvais  sujet !  a  homo  nefas  !  Out  of  the  room  with 
him ! "  Filled  with  rage  and  shame,  Erasmus  fled  to 
his  chamber ;  but  scarcely  was  he  there  when  a  notice 
came  from  the  police,  to  the  effect  that  within  the  space 
of  an  hour  he  must  present  himself  before  the  magis- 
tracy with  a  complete  and  perfectly  resembling  looking- 
glass  image,  or,  failing  that,  must  leave  the  city. 

Erasmus  hurried  off,  pursued  by  the  idle  mob  and  the 
street  boys,  crying,  "  There  he  rides,  —  the  man  who  has 
sold  his  image  to  the  devil !  There  he  rides !  "  At  last 
he  found  himself  in  the  open  country,  and  now  wherever 
he  went  he  gave  orders  to  have  all  the  looking-glasses 
covered,  on  the  pretext  of  a  natural  abhorrence  of  all 
reflections.  For  which  reason  he  was  nicknamed  Gen- 
eral Suwarrow,  who  did  the  same  thing. 

He  reached  his  native  city,  came  to  his  home,  and  was 
joyfully  received  by  his  wife  and  little  'Rasmus.  He 
thought  that  in  the  peace  and  quiet  of  domestic  life  he 
would  soon  recover  from  the  grief  of  his  loss.  It  hap- 
pened one  day  that  Spikher,  who  had  banished  the  beau- 
tiful Giulietta  entirely  from  his  thoughts,  was  playing 
with  little  'Rasmus.  The  child  had  blacked  his  little 
hands  with  soot  from  the  stove,  and  smirched  his  fath- 
er's face  with  it.  "  Oh,  papa,  papa !  I  have  made  you 
all  black.  Just  look  !  "  He  ran  and  fetched  n  looking- 
glass  before  Spikher  could  prevent  it,  held  it  before  his 
father,  and  looked  into  it  himself.     But  immediately  he 


HOFFMANN.  495 

let  it  fall,  burst  into  crying,  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 
Soon  after,  the  wife  entered  with  amazement  and  horror 
in  her  face.  "  What  is  it  that  'Rasmus  tells  me  ?  "  she 
exclaimed.  Spikher  interrupted  her  with  a  forced  smile, 
"  That  I  have  no  looking-glass  image,  is  it,  my  love  ? " 
And  he  tried  to  convince  her  of  the  absurdity  of  suppos- 
ing that  one  could  lose  his  image ;  but  even  if  he  could, 
the  loss  was  of  no  importance.  Every  such  reflection  is, 
after  all,  an  illusion.  Self-contemplation  leads  to  vanity  ; 
and  besides,  such  an  image  creates  a  schism  in  our  ego, 
dividing  it  into  reality  and  dream.  While  he  was  speak- 
ing, the  wife  had  hurried  quickly  to  remove  the  cloth 
from  a  covered  looking-glass  in  their  sitting-room. 

She  looked  in,  and  as  if  struck  by  lightning  fell  to  the 
ground.  Spikher  raised  her  up,  but  as  soon  as  she  came 
to  herself  she  repelled  him  with  horror.  "  Leave  me  !  " 
she  cried,  "  leave  me,  you  horrible  man !  You  are  not 
my  husband !  No ;  you  are  a  spirit  from  hell,  who  wants 
to  rob  me  of  my  salvation.  Away  !  leave  me  !  thou  hast 
no  power  over  me,  accursed  ! "  Her  yells  penetrated  the 
house.  The  terrified  inmates  rushed  in,  and  Spikher 
rushed  out  of  the  house  full  of  rage  and  despair.  As  if 
driven  by  wild  frenzy,  he  ran  along  the  deserted  walks 
of  the  city  park.  Giulietta's  image  presented  itself  to 
his  mind  with  angelic  beauty.  "  Is  it  thus,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  that  you  avenge  yourself  for  my  leaving  you  and  giving 
you  only  my  image  instead  of  myself  ?  Ah,  Giulietta ! 
I  will  be  thine  with  body  and  soul.  She  for  whom  I  sac- 
rificed you  has  rejected  me.  Giulietta  !  Giulietta !  I  will 
be  yours ! " 

''  That  is  perfectly  feasible,"  said  a  voice.  It  was  that 
of  Signer  Dappertutto,  who  suddenly  stood  close  by  his 
side  in  a  scarlet  coat  with  glittering  steel  buttons.    These 


496  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

were  words  of  consolation  for  the  unfortunate  Erasmus, 
and  he  did  not  notice  Dappertutto's  malicious,  hateful  ex- 
pression.    He  stood  still  and  asked, with  piteous  tone, — 

"  How  shall  I  find  her  again  ?  She  is  probably  lost  to  me 
forever." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Dappertutto ;  "  she  is  not  far  from  here, 
and  yearns  astonishingly  for  your  worthy  self,  because,  as  you 
know,  honored  sir,  a  looking-glass  image  is  but  a  base  illusion. 
For  the  rest,  as  soon  as  she  has  your  worthy  person,  —  body, 
life,  and  soul,  —  she  will  give  you  back  your  agreeable  looking- 
glass  image,  smooth  and  uninjured,  with  many  thanks." 

"  Bring  me  to  her !  bring  me  to  her ! "  cried  Erasmus. 
"  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  little  trifle  in  the  way,"  said  Dappertutto, "  be- 
fore you  can  see  Giulietta  and  give  her  yourself  in  exchange 
for  your  looking-glass  image.  Your  Honor  is  not  competent  to 
dispose  so  entirely  of  your  worthy  person  ;  you  are  fettered  by 
certain  ties  which  will  have  to  be  loosed  first,  —  namely,  your 
Honor's  beloved  wife,  together  with  your  promising  little  son." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  "  said  Erasmus. 

"Unconditional  severance  of  these  bonds,"  continued  Dap- 
pertutto, "  may  be  effected  in  a  very  easy,  humane  way.  You 
know,  from  your  acquaintance  with  me  in  Florence,  that  I  am 
skilled  in  the  preparation  of  the  most  wonderful  medicaments, 
and  I  have  here  a  little  domestic  remedy  in  my  hand.  Those 
who  are  in  your  way  and  dear  Giulietta's  need  only  drink 
a  few  drops  of  this,  and  they  will  sink  away  without  a  sound 
or  sign  of  pain.  It  is  true,  people  call  that  dying,  and  death  is 
said  to  be  bitter ;  but  is  n't  the  taste  of  bitter  almonds  very 
pleasant  ?  And  that  is  all  the  bitterness  there  is  in  the  death 
which  this  little  flask  encloses.  As  soon  as  the  happy  sinking- 
away  takes  place,  your  estimable  family  will  diffuse  a  pleasant 
odor  of  bitter  almonds.  Take  it,  honored  sir."  He  handed  to 
Erasmus  a  little  phial. 

"  Horrible  man !  "  exclaimed  the  latter,  "  would  you  have  me 
poison  my  wife  and  child  ?  " 


HOFFMANN,  497 

'*  Who  talks  of  poison  ?  "  the  red  man  rejoined.  "  The  phial 
contains  nothing  but  a  pleasant  family  medicine.  I  have  at  my 
command  other  means  of  setting  you  at  liberty,  but  I  would 
like  to  operate  through  yourself  in  such  a  natural  and  humane 
way.  That  is  just  my  weakness.  Take  it  without  scruple,  my 
dearest." 

Erasmus  —  he  could  not  tell  how  —  had  the  phial  in 
his  hand.  Without  stopping  to  think,  he  ran  home  to 
his  chamber.  His  wife  had  spent  the  night  amid  a 
thousand  anxieties  and  torments.  She  persisted  in  de- 
claring that  the  returned  was  not  her  husband,  but  an 
infernal  spirit  who  had  assumed  his  shape.  As  soon  as 
Spikher  entered  the  house,  all  the  inmates  fled  from  him 
in  fright.  Only  little  'Rasmus  ventured  to  come  near 
and  ask,  in  a  childish  way,  why  he  had  not  brought  back 
his  looking-glass  image  ;  that  his  mother  would  worry 
herself  to  death  about  it.  Erasmus  stared  wildly  at  the 
boy.  He  had  Dappertutto's  phial  still  in  his  hand.  The 
little  one  had  his  pet  dove  on  his  arm;  the  bird  ap- 
proached the  phial  with  its  bill,  pecked  the  cork,  and 
immediately  dropped  its  head  and  fell  down  dead.  Eras- 
mus sprang  up  in  terror.  "  Traitor  !  "  he  cried,  "  you 
shall  not  tempt  me  to  commit  the  hellish  deed."  He 
hurled  the  phial  through  the  open  window ;  it  broke  in 
pieces  on  the  stone  pavement  of  the  courtyard.  A  de- 
lightful odor  of  almonds  went  up  and  spread  through 
the  room.  Little  'Rasmus  had  run  away  in  a  fright. 
Spikher  spent  the  day  in  torments  until  midnight.  Giu- 
lietta's  image  grew  ever  more  vivid  in  his  thought.  A 
little  scarlet  berry  that  had  dropped  from  a  necklace 
which  once  encircled  her  throat,  was  still  in  his  posses- 
sion. He  drew  it  forth,  and  gazing  upon  it  fixed  his 
mind  on  his  lost  love.     It  seemed  to  him  as  if  a  magic 

32 


498  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

fragrance  exhaled  from  the  pearl,  —  the  same  that 
had  breathed  upon  him  in  Giulietta's  presence.  ''Ah, 
Giulietta  !  "  he  cried,  "  if  I  could  but  see  you  once  more, 
I  would  be  content  to  perish  in  ruin  and  shame." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  words  when  it  began  to 
rustle  in  the  hall  before  the  door.  He  heard  footsteps  ; 
there  was  a  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  chamber.  His 
breath  stopped  in  bodeful  anxiety  and  hope.  He  opened 
the  door ;  Giulietta  entered  in  all  her  lofty  beauty  and 
grace. 

Mad  with  love  and  longing,  he  locked  her  in  his  arms. 
"  Here  I  am,"  she  said,  gently ;  "  but  see  how  carefully  I 
have  kept  your  looking-glass  image."  She  uncovered  the 
looking-glass,  and  Erasmus  saw  with  delight  his  image 
clinging  to  Giulietta ;  but,  independent  of  himself,  it  re- 
flected none  of  his  movements.   Erasmus  shuddered. 

*'  Giulietta,  I  shall  go  distracted  with  love  for  you.  Give 
me  the  image,  and  take  myself,  body  and  life  and  soul." 

"  There  is  still  something  between  us,  you  know ;  has  not 
Dappertutto  told  you  ?  "  said  Giulietta. 

Erasmus  interrupted  her,  — "  Heavens,  if  there  is  no  other 
way  to  become  yours  I  will  rather  die !  " 

*'  Nor  shall  Dappertutto,"  continued  Giulietta,  "  by  any 
means  tempt  you  to  such  an  act.  It  is  bad,  to  be  sure,  that  a 
vow  and  the  word  of  a  priest  can  have  such  power ;  but  you 
must  loose  the  band  which  binds  you,  otherwise  you  can  never 
be  wholly  mine ;  and  there  is  a  better  method  for  that  than  the 
one  which  Dappertutto  proposed." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Erasmus  eagerly. 

Giulietta  threw  her  arm  around  his  neck,  and  leaning  her 
head  on  his  breast,  whispered  softly,  —  "  You  sign  your  name, 
'  Erasmus  Spikher,'  to  a  paper,  with  these  few  words  :  '  I  give 
to  my  good  friend  Dappertutto  power  over  my  wife  and  child, 
to  do  with  them  as  he  pleases,  and  to  sever  the  tie  which  binds 


HOFFMANN.  499 

me,  forasmuch  as  I  mean  to  belong  henceforth  with  my  body 
and  my  immortal  soul  to  Giulietta,  whom  I  have  chosen  for 
my  wife,  and  to  whom,  by  a  special  vow,  I  shall  bind  myself 
forever.'  " 

Erasmus  felt  a  thrill  through  all  his  nerves ;  fiery 
kisses  were  burning  on  his  lips ;  he  had  the  paper  which 
Giulietta  gave  him  in  his  hand.  Suddenly,  Dappertutto 
rose  gigantic  behind  Giulietta  and  handed  him  a  me- 
tallic pen.  At  the  same  moment  a  small  bloodvessel 
burst  in  his  left  hand,  and  the  blood  spurted  out.  "  Dip 
your  pen  in  it ! "  croaked  the  scarlet  man.  "  Write ! 
write  !  my  ever,  my  only  beloved  ! "  lisped  Giulietta. 
Already  he  had  the  pen  in  his  hand  and  seated  himself 
to  write,  when  the  door  opened,  a  figure  in  white  en- 
tered, and  staring  with  spectral  eyes  at  Erasmus  called, 
with  a  muffled  voice  of  pain,  —  "  Erasmus,  what  are  you 
doing  ?  For  the  Saviour's  sake,  desist  from  the  awful 
deed !  "  Erasmus  recognized  his  wife  in  the  warning  fig- 
ure, and  threw  the  pen  and  paper  far  from  him.  Light- 
ning flashed  from  Giulietta's  eyes,  her  face  was  horribly 
distorted,  her  body  glowed  like  fire.  "  Let  me  go,  hell- 
brood  !  You  shall  have  no  part  in  my  soul.  In  the 
Saviour's  name,  get  you  gone,  Serpent !  hell  glows  out  of 
you  ! "  cried  Erasmus,  and  with  a  strong  hand  pushed 
Giulietta,  who  still  clung  to  him,  away.  Then  there 
was  a  yelling  and  howling  in  piercing  discord,  and  a 
flitting,  as  with  black  raven  wings,  through  the  room. 
Giulietta  and  Dappertutto  vanished  in  thick  smoke  and 
stench,  which  seemed  to  ooze  from  the  walls  and  extin- 
guished the  lights.  Finally,  the  beams  of  morning  broke 
through  the  windows. 

Erasmus  betook  himself  at  once  to  his  wife.  He  found 
her  quite  mild  and  gentle.     Little  'Rasmus  was  sitting 


500  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

up  in  the  bed,  already  wide  awake.     She  gave  her  hand 
to  her  exhausted  husband,  saying,  — 

"  Now  I  know  all  the  bad  that  happened  to  you  in  Italy, 
and  pity  you  with  all  my  heart !  The  power  of  the  enemy  is 
very  great ;  he  is  given  to  all  possible  vices,  —  and  among  oth- 
ers he  steals,  and  could  not  resist  the  temptation  maliciously  to 
purloin  your  beautiful,  perfectly-resembling,  looking-glass  image. 
Just  look  into  that  glass  there,  my  dear  good  man !  " 

Spikher  did  so,  trembling  all  over,  and  with  a  very 
piteous  expression.  The  mirror  remained  bright  and 
clear ;  no  Erasmus  Spikher  looked  from  it. 

"  This  time,"  continued  his  wife,  '*it  is  well  that  the  looking- 
glass  does  not  reflect  your  image,  for  you  look  very  silly,  dear 
Erasmus.  But  you  must  be  aware  yourself  that  without  a 
looking-glass  image  you  are  an  object  of  contempt,  and  can 
never  be  a  regular,  complete  father  of  a  family,  —  one  to  in- 
spire respect  in  wife  and  child.  Little  'Rasmus  already  laughs 
at  you,  and  means  by  and  by  to  paint  you  a  mustache  with 
coal,  because  you  never  will  know  it.  Therefore,  go  abroad 
again  for  awhile ;  go  about  in  the  world,  and  try  to  find  a 
chance  of  getting  back  your  looking-glass  image  from  the 
Devil !  When  you  have  it,  you  shall  be  heartily  welcome. 
Kiss  me !  " 

Spikher  did  so.  "  And  now,  good  luck  to  you !  Send 
'Rasmus  now  and  then  a  pair  of  new  trousers,  for  he  creeps 
on  his  knees  a  good  deal  and  wears  them  out  fast.  And  if  you 
happen  to  come  to  Nuremberg,  you  may  add  a  gay  leaden 
hussar  and  a  gingerbread  cake,  like  a  loving  father.  Good-by, 
dear  Erasmus !  " 

And  she  turned  herself  in  bed  and  went  to  sleep. 
Spikher  lifted  little  'Rasmus  and  pressed  him  to  his 
heart ;  but  the  child  cried  so  that  he  set  him  down  again, 
and  went  forth  into  the  wide  world.     He  once  fell  in 


HOFFMANN.  601 

with  a  certain  Peter  Schlemihl,  who  had  sold  his  shadow. 
The  two  thought  of  going  into  partnership ;  Spikher  was 
to  cast  the  necessary  shadow,  and  Schlemihl  to  reflect 
the  proper  image.     But  nothing  came  of  it.^ 

^  For  a  criticism  of  HofEmann  from  an  English  point  of  view, 
see  "  Foreign  Quarterly  Review  "  for  1827. 


502  HOURS  WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HEINRICH   HEINE. 

/^ERMAN  LITERATURE,  confessedly  poor  in  the 
^^  attribute  of  wit  as  compared  with  the  literatures 
of  other  nations,  has  yet  one  writer  unsurpassed  in  that 
kind,  —  one  whom,  if  Pere  Bouhours  had  foreseen,  he 
would  certainly  have  been  forced  to  admit  that  "un 
Allemand  pent  avoir  de  I'esprit."  But  Heinrich  Heine, 
of  whom  I  speak,  was  more  French  than  German  in  his 
mental  habitudes  and  style  of  discourse  :  of  Germans, 
surely  the  most  un-German.  Among  writers  of  all  na- 
tions, he  stands  pre-eminent  in  the  union  of  dissimilar 
and  antagonistic  traits,  —  sarcasm  and  genuine  poetic 
feeling,  Mephistophelism  and  lyric  grace,  the  bitterest 
and  the  sweetest  in  mental  life. 

He  was  richly,  variously  gifted,  but  his  one  pre-eminent 
talent  was  wit,  —  wit  of  the  French,  more  precisely  of 
the  Voltairian,  type ;  wit  born  of  cynicism,  inspired  by 
contempt ;  not  innocently  playful  like  that  of  Hood  or 
Charles  Lamb,  not  sportive  for  sport's  sake,  but  wit 
which  like  the  lightning  smites  where  it  shines. 

For  some  reason,  perhaps  because  he  delighted  in 
abusing  them,  Heine  has  been  a  special  favorite  with  the 
English.  No  German  writer,  according  to  the  measure 
of  his  ability,  has  found  such  kindly  recognition  with 
precisely  the  people  whom,  of  all  European  nations,  he 
most  detested.  Matthew  Arnold  goes  so  far  as  to  say 
that  "  on  Heine,  of  all  German  authors  who  survived 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  t)03 

Goethe,  incomparably  the  largest  portion  of  Goethe's 
mantle  fell."  And  again :  "  He  is  the  most  important 
successor  and  continuator  of  Goethe  in  Goethe's  most 
important  line  of  activity,"  —  that  is,  as  Mr.  Arnold 
explains  it,  in  "  the  liberation  of  humanity."  This,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  absurdly  false.  To  say  that  a  mocker, 
a  persifleur,  one  whose  favorite  use  of  the  pen  was  to 
bespatter  some  respectability  ;  from  whom  it  is  so  hard 
to  get  a  serious  word  on  any  subject;  who  seemed  to 
look  upon  the  universe  and  life  as  a  colossal  farce, — to 
say  that  such  a  one  has,  of  German  authors  next  to 
Goethe,  contributed  most  to  the  liberation  of  humanity, 
is  to  grievously  mistake  the  forces  and  influences  by 
which  human  nature  is  made  free.  Liberation  comes, 
not  by  snarling  at  oppressors  or  grimacing  at  society, 
but  by  elevating  the  mind  and  enlarging  the  intellectual 
horizon.  This,  Goethe  with  earnest  effort,  promoting 
the  culture  which  alone  makes  free,  spent  his  life  in 
doing.  Only  on  an  earnest,  patient,  reverent  soul  could 
his  mantle  fall.  Heine  was  not  of  that  sort ;  when  he 
called  himself  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  liberation  of  hu- 
manity, he  mistook  the  quarrel  with  existing  institutions 
for  real  enlargement  and  soul-emancipation. 

But  let  us  take  him  for  what  he  was,  and  prize  him 
accordingly.  If  he  contributed  notliing  essential  to  the 
liberation  of  human  kind,  and  very  little  to  their  instruc- 
tion, he  has  contributed  immensely  to  their  entertain- 
ment, and  that  after  a  fashion  in  which  among  Germans 
he  has  no  rival. 

Heine  presents  the  second  example  of  a  born  Jew  at- 
taining high  eminence  in  German  literature.  Mendels- 
sohn, as  we  have  seen,  was  his  predecessor  in  this 
distinction.     But  what  a  contrast,  intellectual  and  moral, 


504  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

between  the  two!  Honest  Moses  gained  his  position 
by  strenuous  labor  seconding  native  gifts  and  pre- 
eminent moral  worth.  Heine  conquered  it,  in  spite 
of  moral  defects,  bj  audacious  satire  and  the  exquisite 
charm  of  his  verse.  Mendelssohn  maintained  through 
life,  and  adorned  and  enriched,  his  ancestral  faith. 
Heine  treated  the  confession  of  his  fathers  as  a  joke, 
and  exchanged  it  as  a  matter  of  policy  for  the  Christian ; 
caring  at  heart  as  little  for  the  Gospel  as  he  had  cared 
for  the  Law.  To  the  monotheism  of  the  Jews  his  satire 
ascribes  the  financial  prosperity  of  his  people.  He 
says :  — 

"  Israel  is  indebted  for  his  wealth  to  his  sublime  belief  in  an 
invisible  God.  The  heathen  worshipped  idols  of  silver  and 
gold.  Had  they  changed  all  that  silver  and  gold  into  money 
and  put  it  to  interest,  they  too  might  have  been  rich  like  the 
Jews,  who  were  shrewd  enough  to  invest  in  Babylonian  state 
loans,  in  Nebuchadnezzarian  bonds,  Egyptian  canal-shares,  in 
five  per  cent  Sidonians,  and  other  securities  which  the  Lord 
has  blessed." 

Heinrich,  son  of  Samson  Heine,  was  born  on  the  12th 
of  December,  1799,  in  Diisseldorf,  a  town  on  the  Rhine, 
since  famous  for  its  school  of  art.  In  1805  the  duchy 
was  ceded  to  the  French,  and  Diisseldorf  came  under 
the  dominion  of  Joachim  Murat.  The  French  occupa- 
tion lasted  until  1813.  By  this  means,  Heine's  boyhood, 
from  his  sixth  to  his  thirteenth  year,  came  under  French 
influence,  —  a  circumstance  which  fully  explains  the 
French  leaning,  so  conspicuous  in  his  character  and 
writing.  French  became  to  him  a  second  mother- 
tongue.  In  fact,  to  the  people  of  that  locality  French 
rule  was  a  great  relief  from  the  grinding  oppression  of 
their  German  masters.     On  the  Jews  especially,  who  in 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  505 

these  days  were  treated  as  outcasts,  it  conferred  a  social 
emancipation  elsewhere  denied,  and  Heine  never  ceased 
to  remember  with  gratitude  the  regime  to  which  his  peo- 
ple owed  this  precious  boon. 

The  boy  received  his  early  education  in  one  of  the 
schools  established  by  the  French,  styled  "lyceums," 
under  the  direction  of  head-master  Schallmeyer,  a  priest 
of  the  Romish  Church.  Schallmeyer  endeavored  in  vain 
to  persuade  Heinrich's  mother  to  devote  her  son  to  the 
service  of  his  Church,  promising  him  swift  promotion 
through  his  influence  at  Rome.  Heine  thinks  his 
mother  would  have  relented  had  she  duly  considered 
how  becoming  to  him  would  have  been  an  abbe's  mantle 
or  a  cardinal's  red  hat.  He  has  given  in  the  "  Ideen," 
published  in  1826,  a  humorous  account  of  the  kind  of 
teaching  he  received  at  this  seminary,  the  trouble  it  cost 
him,  and  the  use  he  made  of  it :  — 

"  The  kings  of  Rome,  dates,  nouns  in  im,  the  irregular  verbs, 
Greek,  Hebrew,  geography,  German,  head-reckoning  [mental 
arithmetic],  —  Gott!  my  head  still  swims  with  it!  Everything 
had  to  be  learned  by  heart.  A  good  deal  of  it  in  after  years 
stood  me  in  stead ;  for  had  I  not  known  the  kings  of  Rome 
by  heart,  it  would  later  in  life  have  been  a  matter  of  perfect  in- 
difference to  me  whether  Niebuhr  has  proved,  or  has  not  proved, 
that  they  never  existed ;  and  had  I  not  known  dates,  how 
could  I  have  ever  found  my  way  about  big  Berlin,  where  one 
house  resembles  another  like  two  drops  of  water  or  two  grena- 
diers, and  where  one  can  never  find  his  acquaintance  if  he  has 
not  the  numbers  of  the  houses  where  they  live,  in  his  head  ? 
I  connected  with  every  man  of  my  acquaintance  some  historical 
event,  the  date  of  which  corresponded  with  the  number  of  his 
house,  so  that  I  could  easily  recall  the  latter  by  thinking  of  the 
former.  The  consequence  was  that  an  historical  event  came 
into  my  mind  whenever  I  beheld  one  of  my  acquaintance.  For 
example,  if  I  met  my  tailor,  I  immediately  thought  of  the  battle 


506  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

of  Marathon ;  when  I  met  the  well-dressed  banker,  Christian 
Gumpel,  I  thought  of  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  ;  my  Portu- 
guese friend,  who  was  very  much  in  debt,  made  me  think  of  the 
flight  of  Mahomet.  ...  As  I  said,  knowledge  of  dates  is  abso- 
lutely necessary.  I  know  people  who  have  nothing  in  their 
heads  but  some  dates,  with  which  they  knew  how  to  find  out 
the  right  houses  in  Berlin,  and  are  now  already  full  professors. 
But  at  school  I  had  a  terrible  time  with  all  those  numbers. 
With  arithmetic  proper  it  was  still  worse.  What  I  understood 
best  was  subtraction.  In  that  there  is  a  very  practical  chief 
rule:  four  from  three  I  can't;  I  must  borrow  one.  In  such 
cases  it  is  always  best  to  borrow  a  iQW  groschen  more,  for  one 
can  never  know  — 

"  As  to  Latin,  Madam,  you  have  no  idea  how  complicated  it 
is !  The  Romans  would  never  have  had  time  to  conquer  the 
world  if  they  had  had  to  learn  their  Latin.  Those  fortunate 
people  knew  in  their  cradles  what  nouns  formed  the  accusative 
in  im.  I,  on  the  contrary,  had  to  learn  them  by  heart  in  the 
sweat  of  ray  face.  But  still  it  is  well  that  I  know  them ;  for 
when  on  the  20th  of  July,  1825,  I  had  to  carry  on  a  disputation 
in  Latin  in  the  aula  at  Gottingen  (Madam,  you  ought  to  have 
heard  me),  if  I  had  said  sinapem  instead  of  sinapim,  the  Fresh- 
men, who  might  have  happened  to  be  present,  would  have 
heard  me,  and  that  would  have  been  an  everlasting  disgrace. 
Vis,  huris^  sitts,  tussis,  cucumis,  amussis,  canabis,  sinapis,  — 
these  words,  which  have  made  such  a  figure  in  the  world,  owe 
their  consequence  to  their  having  combined  to  form  a  class  by 
themselves,  although  they  were  exceptions.  On  that  account  I 
honor  them.  And  to  have  them  in  my  mind,  in  case  I  should 
suddenly  need  them,  has  been  a  solace  and  a  comfort  to  me  in 
many  a  dark  hour  of  life.  But,  Madam,  the  irregular  verbs, 
which  are  distinguished  from  the  regular  by  being  accompanied 
with  more  blows,  —  they  are  awfully  hard.  Often  I  prayed 
that  if  it  were  any  way  possible,  I  might  be  enabled  to  remem- 
ber the  irregular  verbs.^ 

^  Condensed  from  the  original. 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  507 

"  Of  Greek  I  will  not  even  speak,  —  it  makes  me  too  angry. 
The  monks  of  the  Middle  Age  were  not  altogether  wrong  when 
they  maintained  that  Greek  was  an  invention  of  the  Devil. 
God  knows  the  sufferings  it  has  caused  me.  With  Hebrew  it 
was  a  little  better,  for  I  had  always  a  great  partiality  for  the 
Jews,  although  to  this  hour  they  crucify  my  good  name.  But 
after  all  I  could  not  make  as  much  progress  in  Hebrew  as  my 
watch,  which  has  had  much  familiar  intercourse  with  pawn- 
brokers, and  thereby  contracted  many  Jewish  customs,  —  as  for 
example,  it  would  n't  go  of  a  Saturday." 

One  never  knows  how  much  precisely  this  jester  means 
in  what  he  tells  us  of  his  early  life  ;  but  if  we  may  credit 
his  account  of  himself,  he  owed  an  important  part  of  his 
education  to  a  French  drummer,  Le  Grand,  who  was 
quartered  upon  his  parents  when  Murat  took  possession 
of  the  city  :  — 

"  Monsieur  le  Grand  knew  but  a  little  broken  German,  — 
only  the  most  important  terms,  Brot^  Kuss,  Ehre,  —  but  he 
could  make  himself  very  intelligible  on  his  drum.  For  example, 
if  I  did  n't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word  liberie,  he  drummed 
the  '  Marsellaise,'  and  I  understood  him.  If  I  was  ignorant  of 
the  meaning  of  the  word  egalite,  he  drummed  '  ga  ira,  ga  irn  — 
les  aristocrates  a  la  lanterned  To  teach  me  the  meaning  of  the 
word  hetise,  he  drummed  the  '  Dessau  March,'  which,  as  Goethe 
reports,  we  Germans  drummed  in  the  champagne,  and  I  under- 
stood him.  He  wanted  once  to  explain  the  word  VAllemagne, 
and  he  drummed  that  all  too  simple  elementary  melody  which 
one  often  at  fairs  hears  played  to  dancing  dogs, '  Dum,  dum,  dura.* 
I  was  angry,  but  I  understood  hira.  In  the  same  way  he  taught 
me  modern  history.  It  is  true,  I  did  n't  understand  the  words  he 
used,  but  as  he  drummed  while  he  spoke,  I  knew  what  he  meant 
to  say.  At  bottom,  that  is  the  best  way  to  teach.  The  history 
of  the  storming  of  the  Bastille,  of  the  Tuileries,  etc.,  is  best  un- 
derstood when  we  know  how  they  drummed  on  those  occasions. 


508  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

lu  our  school  epitomes  we  simply  read  :  '  Their  Excellencies  the 
barons  and  counts  and  their  ladies  were  beheaded ;  their  High- 
nesses the  dukes  and  princes,  and  their  respective  duchesses  and 
princesses,  were  beheaded  ;  his  Majesty  the  king  and  her  Majesty 
the  queen  were  beheaded.'  But  when  one  hears  the  '  Red 
Guillotine  March'  drummed,  one  comes  really  to  understand  it, 
and  learns  the  why  and  the  how.  Madam,  that  is  a  wonderful 
march ;  it  went  through  the  marrow  of  my  bones  when  I  first 
heard  it,  and  I  was  glad  to  forget  it.  One  forgets  that  sort  of 
thing  as  one  grows  older.  A  young  man  nowadays  has  so 
much  other  knowledge  to  remember,  —  whist,  boston,  genealog- 
ical tables,  acts  of  diets,  dramaturgy,  liturgy,  carving  of  meats, 
—  that  really,  rub  my  forehead  as  I  would,  I  could  n't  recall 
that  tremendous  air.  But  just  fancy,  Madam,  not  long  ago  I 
was  sitting  at  table  with  a  whole  menagerie  of  counts,  princes, 
princesses,  lord  chamberlains,  court  marshalesses,  court  govern- 
esses, keepers  of  the  court  plate,  and  whatever  else  those  high 
domestics  may  be  called ;  and  their  sub-domestics  were  running 
behind  their  chairs  and  shoving  the  well-filled  plates  under  their 
mouths :  but  I  who  was  passed  by  and  overlooked  was  sitting 
idle  without  the  least  exercise  of  my  jaws,  and  I  kneaded  bread 
pellets,  and  from  mere  ennui  drummed  with  my  fingers,  and  all 
at  once  to  my  horror  I  found  myself  drumming  the  long-forgot- 
ten *  Red  Guillotine  March.'  What  happened  ?  Madam,  these 
people  went  on  undisturbed  with  their  eating,  and  were  not 
aware  that  other  people,  when  they  have  nothing  to  eat,  sud- 
denly fall  to  drumming,  and  drum  very  curious  marches,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  long  since  forgotten." 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that  the  first  book  which  Heine 
read  with  interest,  the  first  which  actually  "  found  "  him 
and  mastered  him  was,  "  Don  Quixote."  The  influence 
of  this  master-work  on  a  nature  so  susceptible  must 
needs  have  been,  and  evidently  was,  profound,  indelible. 
It  predetermined,  perhaps,  the  direction  of  his  genius, 
and  inspired  the  comic-tragic  tone  which  characterizes 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  509 

all  his  writings.  "  Don  Quixote  "  is  the  most  tragic  of 
comedies.  It  presents  the  universal  tragedy  of  life  on  a 
comic  ground.  The  child  appreciates  the  tragic  more 
keenly  than  the  comic ;  the  former  appeals  to  the  feel- 
ings, the  latter  to  the  understanding.  The  boy  Heine, 
with  the  simple  faith  of  childhood,  accepted  the  narra- 
tive as  historical,  took  everything  seriously,  and  wept  at 
the  knight's  mishaps  as  the  undeserved  misfortunes  and 
cruel  failures  of  a  great  and  noble  nature.  The  comic 
side  dawned  upon  him  later  in  life.  In  the  "  Reise- 
bilder  "  he  compares  himself  to  Don  Quixote  :  — 

"  It  is  true,  my  madness  and  the  fixed  ideas  I  had  imbibed 
from  those  books  were  of  tlie  opposite  kind  to  the  madness  and 
the  fixed  ideas  of  the  '  La  Manchan.'  He  wanted  to  restore 
the  perishing  age  of  chivalry  ;  I,  on  the  contrary,  would  finally 
annihilate  all  that  has  survived  of  that  time.  And  so  we  labored 
with  very  different  views.  My  colleague  took  windmills  for 
giants  ;  I,  on  the  contrary,  can  see  in  the  giants  of  to-day  only 
boastful  windmills.  He  looked  upon  leathern  wine-sacks  as 
mighty  magicians ;  but  I  see  in  our  modern  magicians  only  the 
leathern  wine-sacks." 

When  the  boy  had  reached  the  age  of  sixteen,  his 
father,  who  wished  to  make  a  merchant  of  him,  sent 
him  to  Frankfort  and  had  him  placed  as  a  clerk  in  a 
bank.  But  the  situation  did  not  suit  him,  and  Frank- 
fort was  intolerable  on  account  of  the  hard  conditions 
to  which  Jews  were  subjected  in  that  city,  compelled  to 
live  by  themselves  in  a  narrow,  close  street,  —  a  G-hetto^ 
of  which  the  gates  were  closed,  preventing  their  egress 
on  Sundays. 

The  experiment  was  renewed  with  more  promising 
auspices  at  Hamburg,  where  Heine's  uncle,  Solomon 
Heine,  a  wealthy  banker,  gave  him  a  position  which  but 


510  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

for  his  invincible  aversion  to  mercantile  pursuits,  would 
have  opened  to  him  a  sure  and  easy  road  to  wealth.  For 
three  years  he  struggled  in  vain  against  the  bent  of  his 
genius,  until  his  uncle,  despairing  at  last  of  his  success 
in  that  line,  but  willing  still  to  befriend  him,  generously 
offered  to  defray  the  expenses  of  a  university  education, 
on  condition  that  his  nephew  should  study  law,  obtain  a 
degree,  and  settle  as  a  lawyer  in  Hamburg.  For  this  it 
would  be  necessary  that  he  should  be  baptized  and  pro- 
fess the  Christian  religion,  —  a  measure  to  which  neither 
party  saw  any  objection,  and  which  the  nephew  subse- 
quently adopted. 

A  year  and  a  half,  extending  from  the  spring  of  1819 
to  the  autumn  of  1820,  was  spent  at  Bonn,  where  he 
matriculated  as  a  student  of  law,  but  devoted  himself 
mainly  to  literature  under  the  guidance  of  August  W. 
Schlegel,  the  all-cultured  scholar,  who  commanded  his 
admiration  and  exercised  an  immense  influence  on  the 
youth's  intellectual  development.  From  Bonn  he  re- 
moved to  Gottingen,  then  holding  the  first  rank  among 
German  universities.  There  he  applied  himself  with 
more  concentrated  diligence  to  his  legal  studies,  until, 
on  account  of  a  duel,  he  received  what  was  called  the 
consilium  abeundi, —  that  is,  in  the  language  of  our  uni- 
versities, he  was  suspended.  We  next  find  him  a  student 
at  Berlin,  where  he  gained  the  entrSe  to  the  most  intel- 
lectual circle  of  the  city,  —  the  circle  of  which  Yarn- 
hagen  von  Ense  and  Rahel  were  the  leading  spirits.  In 
Berlin  he  heard  Hegel,  associated  with  the  Hegelians, 
and  imbibed  the  demoralizing  influence  of  that  philoso- 
phy, which  in  professing  to  explain  all  neutralizes  all,  and 
leaves  a  residuum  of  intellectual  self-sufficiency  combined 
with  moral  indifference. 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  511 

To  this  evil  was  added  a  disappointment  in  love.  A 
cousin,  who  first  encouraged  and  then  jilted  him,  ended 
with  marrying  one  whom  Heine  characterizes  as  the 
stupidest  of  all  fools.  This  experience,  acting  on  such 
a  nature,  became  a  root  of  bitterness  which  poisoned  all 
his  life  and  aggravated  the  cynical  tendency  so  conspic- 
uous in  his  character  and  writings.  It  furnished  the 
motive  and  material  of  his  first  volume  of  poems, — 
"  Junge  Leiden,"  —  which  seems  to  have  received  but 
little  notice  at  the  time. 

In  1824  he  returned  to  Gottingen,  and  there  completed 
his  professional  studies,  and  took  the  degree  of  Doctor 
of  Laws  in  1825.  About  the  same  time  he  received 
Christian  baptism,  and  became  a  member  of  the  Luth- 
eran Church.  So  far  as  we  can  judge,  this  step  was  an  act 
of  policy,  —  conformity  without  conversion,  confession 
without  conviction ;  in  short,  a  lie,  and  if  so,  through  the 
injury  to  self-respect  which  must  have  attended  it,  a 
fresh  step  in  moral  degradation. 

From  that  time  until  the  year  1831  he  resided  chiefly 
in  Hamburg.  How  far  he  succeeded,  or  whether  he  se- 
riously applied  himself  to  the  practice  of  the  profession 
which  his  uncle  had  so  much  at  heart,  I  am  unable  to 
say.  We  know  that  the  place  was  exceedingly  distaste- 
ful to  him,  and  he  satirizes  it  without  mercy  as  a  city  of 
Philistines.     He  says :  — 

"  There  are  no  villains,  no  Macbeths  there,  but  the  spirit  of 
Banco  [Banquo]  rules.  The  manners  are  English  and  the  table 
is  angelic  [englisch'].  The  people  of  Hamburg  are  great  eaters. 
In  the  matter  of  politics,  of  science  and  religion,  they  entertain 
conflicting  opinions,  or  no  opinions  at  all ;  but  in  the  matter  of 
eating  there  is  an  edifying  unanimity.  Of  the  Jews  who  reside 
there,  one  party  insists  that  grace  should  be  said  in  Hebrew,  the 


512  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

other  allows  that  it  may  be  said  in  German ;  but  both  parties 
eat,  they  eat  heartily,  —  they  are  of  one  opinion  in  that.  .  .  . 
Hamburg  is  the  native  city  of  smoked  beef,  and  the  people  are 
as  proud  of  it  as^  Mainz  is  of  John  Faust,  or  Eisleben  of  Luther. 
And  indeed  who  would  think  of  comparing  the  value  of  the  art 
of  printing,  or  the  value  of  the  Reformation,  with  that  of 
smoked  beef?  The  Jesuits  dispute  the  two  foi-mer,  but  even  the 
most  zealous  Jesuits  are  agreed  that  smoked  beef  is  an  institu- 
tion of  great  benefit  to  human  kind.  [The  women  of  Hamburg, 
he  thinks,  are  not  particularly  subject  to  the  passion  of  love.] 
Cupid  sometimes  draws  his  bow  at  them,  but  either  from  awk- 
wardness or  love  of  mischief  he  aims  too  low,  and  so  the  dart 
hits  the  stomach  instead  of  the  heart." 

In  1826  appeared  the  first  volume  of  the  Meisehilder 
("  Pictures  of  Travel "),  containing  the  "  Harzreise,"  the 
"  Nordernei,"  and  the  book  "  Le  Grand  ;  "  in  1827  the 
second  part,  and  soon  after  the  third,  containing  the 
"Italy,"  the  "Baths  of  Lucca,"  the  "City  of  Lucca," 
and  the  "  English  Fragments."  The  volumes  are  inter- 
spersed with  some  of  the  author's  most  delicious  poems. 
The  "  Nordernei,"  —  letters  from  an  island  of  that  name, 
a  favorite  seaside  resort,  —  is  prefaced  by  a  series  of 
poems  on  the  North  Sea.  Julian  Schmidt  says  of  the 
first  volume :  — 

"  Seldom  has  a  book  in  Germany  elicited  such  loud  and  uni- 
versal interest.  The  differences  of  age  and  rank  vanished  before 
the  mighty  impression.  Forward-striving  youth  were  inspired 
by  its  drunken  dithyrambics,  and  gray  Diplomacy  sipped  with 
secret  delight  the  sweet  poison  whose  deleterious  eiFects  it  did 
not  for  a  moment  forget.  The  '  Reisebilder '  was  the  first  free 
breath  which  succeeded  a  heavy  sultry  atmosphere.  For  the 
first  time  one  heard  in  the  midst  of  the  night -phantoms,  which 
the  charnel-fancy  of  the  Restoration-poets  had  presented  us, 
loud,  arrogant,  soul-born  laughter.    A  bold  harlequin  had  leaped 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  513 

into  the  midst  of  their  raree-show,  brandishing  right  and  left  his 
wooden  sword,  and  by  means  of  his  antics  exciting  in  the  public 
that  merriment  which  alone  could  dispel  the  gloom  from  their 
eyes.  .  .  .  The  young  relative  of  a  wealthy  house,  who  more 
perhaps  through  report  than  by  personal  experience  has  come 
to  the  conviction  that  all  beauty  is  venal,  changes  his  role  every 
moment  with  the  kindly  student  given  to  dreaming  and  lacry- 
mose  love.  .  .  The  impression  which  this  singular  work  made  on 
all  sides  is  partly  due  to  the  state  of  the  time  to  which  the  form 
of  the  '  Keisebilder '  was  a  new  and  surprising  apparition.  A  pet- 
rified dogmatism,  from  which  the  substantial  meaning  had  died 
out,  had  gradually  become  a  burden  to  everybody  ;  the  empty 
phraseology  of  Romanticism  had  lost  its  interest ;  men  longed 
for  deliverance  from  the  fetters  of  an  authority  which  one  could 
no  longer  respect." 

Of  Heine's  prose  works  the  "  Reisebilder,"  as  it  is  the 
earliest,  so  in  a  literary  view  it  is  the  best.  Written 
before  he  had.  made  literature  a  profession,  and  was 
forced  to  write  for  bread,  it  is  the  freshest,  the  freest, 
the  most  thoroughly  impregnated  with  the  author's 
genius,  if  also  stamped  with  his  peculiar  faults,  —  flash- 
ing with  wit,  rollicking  with  humor,  here  and  there 
eloquent,  often  pathetic,  occasionally  coarse,  bitter  in 
its  satire,  unjust  in  its  criticisms,  full  of  prejudice,  full 
of  egotism,  always  piquant,  never  prosy. 

The  title  imperfectly  indicates  the  contents  of  the 
work.  Pictures  of  travel,  properly  speaking,  descrip- 
tions of  places,  people,  and  things,  adventures  by  the 
way,  constitute  a  comparatively  small  part  of  the  vol- 
umes. The  rest  is  occupied  with  alien  matter,  —  criti- 
cisms, personalities,  biographical  reminiscences,  satires. 
There  is  no  coherence  between  the  parts,  and  often  no 
apparent  motive  in  the  transitions.  In  form  the  book 
might  pass  for,  and  perhaps  was,  an  imitation  of  Sterne's 

33 


514  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

'•  Sentimental  Journey  ; "  but  in  substance  it  has  nothing 
in  common  with  the  English  original. 

The  opening  chapter  of  the  second  part,  entitled  "Jour- 
ney from  Munich  to  Genoa,"  furnishes  an  example  of 
the  abruptness  common  to  both  authors  and  at  the  same 
time  of  the  humor  peculiar  to  the  German :  — 

"  I  am  the  most  polite  man  in  the  world.  I  take  credit  to 
myself  for  having  never  been  rude  on  this  eartli,  where  there 
are  so  many  insufferable  bores  who  will  sit  down  by  you  and 
recount  their  troubles,  or,  what  is  worse,  declaim  their  verses. 
With  genuine  Christian  patience  I  have  quietly  listened  to  these 
inflictions  without  betraying  by  a  look  how  my  soul  was  wearied 
by  them.  Like  a  Brahmin  doing  penance,  who  gives  his  body 
a  prey  to  vermin  that  these  creatures  of  God  may  also  have 
their  satisfaction,  I  have  held  still  and  listened  to  the  most  hate- 
ful of  human  vermin,  and  my  inward  sighs  were  heard  only  by 
Him  who  rewards  virtue. 

"  But  even  policy  counsels  us  to  be  polite,  and  not  to  sulk  in 
silence  or  to  answer  petulantly  when  some  spongy  councillor  of 
commerce  or  dry  cheesemonger  seats  himself  by  us  and  begins 
a  general  European  conversation  with  the  words, '  Fine  weather 
to-day,  sir.'  You  can  never  know  under  what  circumstances 
you  may  meet  one  of  these  Philistines  again,  and  he  may  then 
take  bitter  revenge  on  you  for  not  answering  civilly,  *  Yes,  very 
fine.'  It  may  even  happen,  dear  reader,  that  at  Cassel,  at  the 
table  d'hote,  you  shall  be  sitting  next  hiin  on  his  left,  and  he  has 
the  dish  of  browned  carp  before  him,  and  it  falls  to  him  to  help. 
Now,  if  he  has  a  pique  against  you,  he  will  pass  all  the  plates 
to  the  right,  so  that  when  it  comes  your  turn  there  shall  not  be 
even  the  smallest  bit  of  tail  left  for  you.  .  .  .  And  to  get  no  carp 
is  a  great  misfortune,  —  next  to  the  loss  of  the  national  cockade, 
perhaps  the  greatest.  The  Philistine  who  subjects  you  to  this 
evil  mocks  you  into  the  bargain  ;  he  offers  you  the  sprigs  of  laurel 
which  are  left  in  the  brown  gravy.  Alas !  of  what  avail  are 
laurels  when  you  have  no  carp  ?    And  the  Philistine  blinks  with 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  616 

his  little  eyes,  and  giggles  and  lisps, '  Fine  weather  to-day,  sir/ 
Ah,  dear  soul!  it  may  even  happen 'that  you  shall  come  to  lie 
in  some  churchyard  by  the  side  of  this  Philistine  ;  and  then, 
when  at  the  last  day  you  hear  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  and  say 
to  your  neighbor,  '  Good  friend,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to 
lend  me  a  hand  and  help  me  to  rise ;  my  left  foot  has  fallen 
asleep,  lying  here  so  long,'  you  will  suddenly  perceive  the  well- 
known  Philistine  smile,  and  will  hear  the  mocking  voice,  'Fine 
weather  to-day,  sir.' " 

The  particular  Philistine  who  provoked  these  jests  was 
a  native  of  Berlin,  whom  Heine  met  at  Munich,  and  who 
was  very  indignant  that  Munich  rather  than  Berlin  should 
be  styled  the  "  Modern  Athens."  Sitting  by  the  poet's 
side  at  table,  he  expatiated  on  the  want  of  irony  in  the 
people  of  Munich.  There  the  Berliner  had  the  advantage 
of  them, —  irony  being  in  his  view  a  test  of  intellectual 
refinement,  a  synonym  for  Attic  salt.  "  No  ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  they  have  good  white  beer  here,  but  no  irony." 
Nannerl,  the  neat  barmaid,  who  happened  to  be  pass- 
ing at  that  moment  and  to  catch  the  word  "  irony,"  of 
whose  meaning  she  was  entirely  ignorant,  confirmed  the 
Berliner's  assertion.  "  We  have  no  irony,  but  we  have 
every  other  kind  of  beer."  Whereupon  Heine  caught 
her  by  the  apron  and  explained :  "  My  dear  Nannerl, 
irony  is  not  beer  at  all ;  it  is  a  kind  of  thing  invented 
by  the  people  of  Berlin." 

On  entering  Italy  he  writes  :  — 

"I  find  it  convenient  to  refer  my  readers,  once  for  all,  to 
Goethe's  Italian  journey,  —  the  rather  that,  as  far  as  Verona, 
he  went  over  the  same  ground  through  the  Tyrol.  .  .  .  Goethe 
holds  the  mirror  to  Nature ;  or,  better  said,  he  is  himself  the 
mirror  of  Nature.  Nature  wanted  to  know  how  she  looks,  and 
she  created    Goethe.     Even   the   thoughts,   the   intentions   of 


516  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN   CLASSICS. 

Nature  he  can  mirror  to  us ;  and  a  fervent  Goethean,  especially 
in  dog-days,  is  not  to  be'  blamed  if  he  is  so  surprised  at  the 
identity  of  the  objects  with  their  reflections  that  he  even  credits 
the  mirror  with  creative  power,  with  power  to  create  like  objects. 
A  certain  Herr  Eckermann  once  wrote  a  book  about  Goethe,  in 
which  he  quite  seriously  asserts  that  if  the  dear  God,  in  creating 
the  world,  had  said  to  Goethe  :  '  I  have  now  finished.  I  have 
created  everything  but  birds  and  trees.  You  would  oblige  me 
if  you  would  create  these  trifles  in  my  place,' — Goethe  would 
have  created  these  animals  and  plants  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the 
rest  of  creation ;  the  birds  with  feathers,  and  the  trees  green,' 
There  is  some  truth  in  these  words ;  and  I  am  even  of  the  opin- 
ion that  Goethe  would  have  done  better  than  the  dear  God 
himself,  —  and  that,  for  example,  he  would  more  correctly  have 
created  Herr  Eckermann  also  with  feathers  and  green.  It  is 
really  a  mistake  of  creation  that  Herr  Eckermann  has  no  green 
feathers  growing  on  his  head ;  and  Goethe  has  endeavored  to 
remedy  this  defect  by  procuring  for  him  a  doctor's  hat  from 
Jena,  and  putting  it  on  him  with  his  own  hands." 

Previous  to  his  Italian  journey,  curiosity  had  led  Heine 
to  England.  His  observations  on  that  country  were 
published  in  1830,  with  the  title  "  Englische  Frag- 
mente."  The  hatred  he  always  felt  toward  the  English 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  either  augmented  or  abated  by 
what  he  saw  on  English  soil.  Certainly  not  abated,  for 
long  after  it  declares  itself  with  comic  ferocity  in  the 
introduction  to  his  "  Maids  and  Women  of  Shakspeare." 
After  citing  the  anecdote  of  a  good  Hamburg  Christian, 
who  could  never  reconcile  himself  to  the  fact  that  Jesus 
Christ  was  a  Jew,  when  he  thought  of  the  Jewish  ped- 
lers  of  Hamburg,  with  their  long  unwiped  noses,  he 
proceeds  to  say  that  he  felt  just  so  about  Shakspeare : 

"  It  makes  me  faint  at  heart  when  I  consider  that  after  all 
he  was  an  Englishman,  and  belonged  to  the  most  repulsive 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  517 

people  that  evei-  God  in  his  wrath  created.  What  a  disagree- 
able people !  what  a  comfortless  country  !  How  starched,  home- 
baked,  self-seeking !  How  eng  [narrow]  !  how  Englisch.  A 
country  which  the  ocean  would  long  since  have  swallowed  but 
for  fear  of  the  nausea  it  would  cause  !  " 

Heine's  visit  to  England  coincided  with  the  brief  min- 
istry of  George  Canning,  —  a  time  favorable  for  his  study 
of  English  politics  and  English  institutions.  His  obser- 
vations on  men  and  things  are  often  sagacious  and  his 
criticisms  just,  where  they  are  not  biassed  by  his  impla- 
cable prejudices. 

When  he  comes  to  speak  of  Wellington,  he  seems 
fairly  to  gnash  his  teeth  at  the  man  who  conquered  his 
soul's  idol,  Napoleon  :  — 

"  The  man  has  the  misfortune  of  having  always  been  fortu- 
nate where  the  greatest  men  of  the  world  were  unfortunate. 
That  is  revolting,  and  makes  him  hateful.  We  see  in  him  only 
the  conquest  gained  by  stupidity  over  genius.  Arthur  Welling- 
ton triumphs  where  Napoleon  Bonaparte  fails.  Never  was  a 
man  more  ironically  favored  by  Fortune.  It  seems  as  if  she 
meant  to  expose  his  barren  littleness  by  lifting  him  up  on  the 
shield  of  victory." 

On  one  occasion,  however,  Heine  tells  us  that  he  was 
driven  to  praise  Wellington.  It  was  when  his  barber, 
a  Mr.  White,  was  shaving  him.  This  barber  was  a  great 
radical,  and  complained  bitterly  of  the  oppression  of  the 
poor  by  the  aristocracy.  Against  Wellington  especially 
he  raved  like  a  madman,  saying,  —  "  Oh,  if  I  only  had 
him  under  my  razor  I  would  save  him  the  trouble  of 
cutting  his  own  throat,  as  his  countryman  Londonderry 
did !  "     Heine  says  :  — 

"I  was  afraid  that  he  might  suddenly  mistake  me  for  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  and  cut  my  throat.    I  sought  to  tone  down 


518  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

his  violence  and  to  pacify  him.  I  appealed  to  his  national  pride. 
I  represented  to  him  that  Wellington  had  advanced  the  glory  of 
England ;  that  he  was  only  an  innocent  tool  in  other  hands ; 
that  he  too  was  fond  of  beefsteak ;  that  he  —  Heaven  knows 
what  more  I  praised  in  Wellington  while  the  knife  was  about 
my  throat." 

The  first  and  second  volumes  of  the  "  Reisebilder " 
were  soon  followed  by  the  Buck  der  Lieder,  —  the  "  Book 
of  Songs,"  —  containing,  besides  the  previously  pub- 
lished "  Junge  Leiden  "  and  the  metrical  portions  of  the 
*  ^Reisebilder,"  the  Romances,  the  Sonnets,  "  Die  Heim- 
kehr,"  "  Lyrisches  Intermezzo,"  and  other  miscellaneous 
pieces.  A  second  volume,  published  many  years  after, 
contains  the  collection  entitled  "  Romancero,^'  and  the 
"  Letzte  Gedichte."  "  Atta  Troll ;  a  Summer-night's 
Dream,"  and  "  Germany ;  a  Winter's  Tale,"  were  pub- 
lished separately. 

As  a  lyric  poet  Heine  must  always  rank  high,  not  only 
among  German,  but  among  all  modern  European,  singers. 
His  songs  have  that  subtile,  indescribable,  inexplicable 
charm  which  we  find  in  Goethe,  in  Uhland,  in  Beranger, 
and  in  Burns ;  but,  above  all,  in  some  of  Shakspeare's 
songs.  There  is  in  them  a  spontaneity  which  is  lacking 
in  many  poets  who  far  excel  him  in  other  qualities,  —  in 
fire  and  force,  —  as  Schiller  and  Bj^ron.  There  is  a 
touch-and-go  character,  a  fugitive  grace,  like  the  mo- 
mentary flutter  of  a  humming-bird  about  a  honeysuckle. 
Their  substance  is  of  the  lightest,  airiest  (1  am  speaking 
of  the  songs),  —  a  fleeting  thought  arrested  and  crystal- 
ized  in  verse ;  the  mood  of  the  moment  breathed  in 
numbers,  words  coming  unsought  to  embody  a  senti- 
ment,—  falling,  as  it  were,  accidentally  into  metrical 
cadence  and  just  happening  to  rhyme  :  no  appearance 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  519 

of  elaboration,  no  suggestion  of  conscious  effort,  — 
sometimes  a  vexatious  looseness  of  versification.  The 
test  of  merit  in  poems  of  this  sort  —  very  different  from 
that  of  more  artistic  compositions  —  is  popularity  ;  and 
never  were  songs  more  popular  than  Heine's.  They 
have  been  to  Germany  what  those  of  Beranger  are  to 
France.  Many  of  them  have  been  set  to  music.  "  All 
the  composers  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,"  says  Schmidt, 
"  have  worked  at  them." 

The  following  is  a  specimen,  not  of  the  grace,  which  is 
untransferable,  but  of  the  easy  levity  of  these  songs :  — 

"  I  'm  tossed  and  driven  to  and  fro ; 
A  few  hours  more  and  I  shall  meet  her,  — 
The  maid,  than  whom  earth  knows  no  sweeter: 
Heart,  my  heart,  why  throbb'st  thou  so  ? 

*'  But  the  hours,  they  are  a  lazy  folk; 
Leisurely  their  slow  steps  dragging, 
Yawning,  creeping,  lingering,  lagging,  — 
Come,  hurry  up,  you  lazy  folk ! 

**  With  hurry  and  worry  I  'm  driven  and  chased; 
But  the  hours  were  never  in  love  I  judge, 
And  so  they  conspire  to  wreak  their  grudge 
In  secretly  mocking  at  lovers'  haste." 

Characteristic  is  the  blending  of  sadness  and  jest  in 
one  weird  little  piece,  which  I  will  not  attempt  to  trans- 
late in  verse.  The  poet  bids  his  mistress  place  her  hand 
on  his  heart :  "  Do  you  hear  the  knocking  and  hammer- 
ing in  that  little  cell  ?  There  's  a  carpenter  at  work 
there  making  my  coffin  ;  his  hammering  keeps  me 
awake.  Make  haste.  Master  Carpenter !  finish  the  coffin ; 
then  I  shall  sleep." 

All  Heine's  poems  —  the  longer  pieces  as  well  as  the 
songs  —  have  been  translated  into  English  by  Alfred 


520  HOURS    WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

Edgar   Bowring.     My  space   will   permit  me  to  select 
but  two :  — 

THE   MOUNTAIN  ECHO. 

At  a  sad  slow  pace  across  the  vale 

There  rode  a  horseman  brave  : 
"  Am  I  riding  now  to  my  mistress's  arras, 
Or  but  to  the  darksome  grave?  " 
The  echo  answer  gave  — 
"  The  darksome  grave." 

And  farther  rode  the  horseman  on, 

With  sighs  his  thoughts  expressed; 
*'  If  I  thus  early  must  go  to  my  grave, 
Yet  in  the  grave  is  rest." 

The  answering  voice  confessed  — 
"  The  grave  is  rest." 

Adown  the  rider's  furrowed  cheek 

A  tear  fell  on  his  breast : 
*'  If  rest  I  can  only  find  in  the  grave, 
For  me  the  grave  is  best." 

The  hollow  voice  confessed  — 
"  The  grave  is  best." 


THE  PILGRIMAGE  TO   KEVLAR. 

The  mother  of  God  at  Kevlar 
Her  best  dress  wears  to-day; 

Full  much  hath  she  to  accomplish. 
So  great  the  sick  folks'  array. 

The  sick  folk  with  them  are  bringing, 
As  offerings  fitting  and  meet, 

Strange  limbs,  of  wax  all  fashioned,  — 
Yea,  waxen  hands  and  feet. 

And  he  who  a  wax  hand  offers 
Finds  cured  in  his  hand  the  wound; 

And  he  who  a  wax  foot  proffers 
Straight  finds  his  foot  grow  sound. 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  521 

To  Kevlar  went  many  on  crutches 

Who  now  on  the  tight-rope  skip, 
And  many  a  palsied  finger 

O'er  the  viol  doth  merrily  trip. 

The  mother,  she  took  a  wax-light, 

And  out  of  it  fashioned  a  heart; 
*'  My  son,  take  that  to  God's  mother, 

And  she  will  cure  thy  smart. " 

The  son  took,  sighing,  the  wax  heart, 
Went  with  sighs  to  the  shrine  so  blest ; 

The  tears  burst  forth  from  his  eyelids, 
The  words  burst  from  his  breast: 

*'  Thou  highly  favored,  blest  one! 

Thou  pure  and  god- like  maid ! 
Thou  mighty  queen  of  heaven ! 

To  thee  be  my  grief  displayed. 

*•  I,  with  my  mother,  was  dwelling 

In  yonder  town  of  Cologne,  — 
The  town  that  many  a  hundred 

Fair  churches  and  chapels  doth  own. 

**  And  near  us  there  dwelt  my  Gretchen, 
Who,  alas !  is  dead  to-day ; 

0  Mary,  I  bring  thee  a  wax  heart! 
My  heart's  wound  cure,  I  pray. 

**  My  sick  heart  cure,  oh,  cure  thou! 
And  early  and  late  my  vow 

1  '11  pay  and  sing  with  devotion,  — 

O  Mary,  blessed  be  thou!  '* 

The  poor  sick  son  and  his  mother 

In  their  little  chamber  slept; 
The  mother  of  God  to  their  chamber 

All  lightly,  lightly  crept: 


522  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS, 

She  bent  herself  over  the  sick  one ; 

Her  hand  with  action  light 
Upon  his  heart  placed  softly, 

Smiled  sweetly,  and  vanished  from  sight. 

The  mother  saw  all  in  her  vision,  — 

Saw  this,  and  saw  much  more; 
From  out  her  slumber  woke  she,  — 

The  hounds  were  baying  full  sore. 

Her  son  was  lying  before  her, 

And  dead  her  son  he  lay, 
While  over  his  pale  cheeks  gently 

The  light  of  morning  did  play. 

Her  hands  the  mother  folded, 

She  felt  she  knew  not  how ; 
With  meekness  sighed  she  softly, 

'*  O  Mary,  blessed  be  thou!  " 

The  French  Revolution  of  1830,  —  the  revolution  of 
the  trois  jours, —  which  dethroned  Charles  X.,  awakened 
in  Heine,  as  in  all  German  Liberals,  a  fever  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  brought  to  sudden  maturity  a  project  long 
entertained  of  emigrating  to  France,  and  there  main- 
taining himself  by  his  pen.  It  is  surmised  that  this  de- 
termination was  confirmed  by  hints  from  the  civil 
authorities,  that  in  consequence  of  too  great  freedom 
of  speech  on  political  topics  his  residence  was  no  longer 
safe  at  home.  The  prospect  of  confinement  in  the  for- 
tress of  Spandau  —  the  prison  of  political  offenders  — 
was  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  contemplate.  He  had  been 
assured,  he  says  in  his  quaint  fashion,  by  one  who 
knew  from  experience  of  the  place,  that  there  were  flies 
in  the  soup,  and  that  the  keeper  forgot  to  warm  the 
prisoners'  chains  in  the  winter.     Accordingly,  in  1831 


HEINRICH  HEINE,  523 

he  removed  to  France ;  and  there,  with  the  exception 
of  a  visit  to  Germany,  he  remained,  residing  chiefly 
in  Paris  during  the  rest  of  his  life. 

But  though  he  chose  to  expatriate  himself,  and  though 
he  delighted  to  abuse  Germany  and  all  that  belonged  to 
it,  he  could  never  bring  himself  to  sever  the  tie  which 
bound  him  to  his  native  country  ;  and  when  in  great  pe- 
cuniary distress,  he  refused  tempting  offers  of  lucrative 
posts  in  the  civil  service  of  France,  from  an  unwilling- 
ness to  break  entirely  with  Germany  by  suffering  him- 
self to  be  naturalized  as  a  French  citizen.  It  is  beautiful 
to  see,  beneath  all  his  cynicism  and  vituperation,  this  la- 
tent love  of  the  fatherland.  It  attests  a  redeeming  trait 
in  his  character,  —  this,  and  his  yearning,  unconquerable 
affection  for  his  mother  in  Hamburg.  In  the  eight 
years'  agony  of  his  sick-bed  he  would  never  distress  her 
with  a  knowledge  of  his  condition,  and  explained  the 
different  manuscript  of  his  letters  by  pretending  a  tem- 
porary weakness  of  the  eyes,  which  obliged  him  to 
employ  an  amanuensis. 

*'  How  swiftly  speeds  each  rolling  year 
Since  I  have  seen  my  mother  dear ! 
Dear,  dear  old  woman !  with  what  fervor 
I  think  of  her!  may  God  preserve  her! 
The  dear  old  thing  in  me  delights ; 
And  in  the  letters  which  she  writes 
I  see  how  much  her  hand  is  shaking. 
Her  mother  's  heart  how  nearly  breaking. 
My  mother  's  ever  in  my  mind ; 
Twelve  long,  long  years  are  left  behind,  — 
Twelve  years  have  followed  on  each  other 
Since  to  my  heart  I  clasped  my  mother. 
For  ages  Germany  will  stand ; 
Sound  to  the  core  is  that  dear  land. 
For  Germany  I  less  should  care 


524  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

If  my  dear  mother  were  not  there. 

My  fatherland  will  never  perish, 

But  she  may  die  whom  I  most  cherish."  i 

But  the  mother  survived  him. 

In  France  Heine  took  to  himself  a  wife.  In  1836  we 
find  him  associated  with  a  French  grisette,  whom  he  after- 
ward married,  —  Mathilde  Crescence  Mirat, —  and  writ- 
ing to  his  friend  Lewald :  "  Mathilde  cheers  my  life  by 
the  unvarying  variableness  of  her  humors.  Very  seldom 
do  I  now  think  of  poisoning  or  asphyxiating  myself.  We 
shall  probably  put  an  end  to  ourselves  some  other  way, 
by  reading  some  book  till  we  die  of  ennuV  The  union 
was  a  happy  one  ;  it  supplied  to  the  poet  precisely  what 
he  most  needed,  —  home  comfort,  relief  from  wearing 
mental  toil,  a  refuge  from  the  bitter  conflicts  of  life,  and 
a  faithful  minister  in  the  weary  years  of  sickness  that 
ended  only  with  death. 

His  wife  was  illiterate  ;  she  knew  nothing  except  by 
hearsay  of  his  writings,  and  nai'vely  asked  his  friends 
"  if  it  was  true  that  her  Henri  was  a  great  poet."  In- 
tellectual sympathy  was  out  of  the  question,  but  the  little 
woman  gave  him  what  was  far  more  important,  —  cheer- 
ful companionship,  in  which  he  could  relax  from  his 
labor,  a  comfortable  menage^  and  tender  nursing. 

"  My  wife,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother,  "  is  a  good,  natural, 
cheerful  child.  .  .  .  She  does  not  allow  me  to  sink  into  that 
dreamy  melancholy  for  which  I  have  so  much  talent.  For  eight 
years  now,  I  have  loved  her  with  a  tenderness  and  passion  which 
border  on  the  fabulous." 

A  detailed  account  and  critical  analysis  of  Heine's 
writings  on  French  soil,  —  some  of  them  first  written  in 

1  From  Bowring's  translation. 


HEINRICH  HEINE,  525 

French  and  afterward  translated  into  German,  —  would 
be  foreign  to  the  purpose,  and  would  far  exceed  the 
limits  of  this  essay.  The  volume  of  essays  entitled  the 
"  Salon "  contains  some  very  valuable  criticisms  of 
French  painters,  a  propos  to  the  Paris  art  exhibition  of 
1831,  and  a  series  of  less  important  strictures  on  the 
French  stage  in  letters  to  the  author's  friend  Lewald. 
It  contains  the  "  Florentine  Nights  "  and  the  "  Elemen- 
tar-Geister"  (an  entertaining  account  of  certain  German 
superstitions),  the  "Rabbi  Bacherach"  (an  interesting 
sketch  of  Jewish  life  drawn  partly  from  personal  obser- 
vation), and  the  satirical  fragment,  "  Schnabelewopski." 
And  it  contains  what  is  more  important  than  any  of 
these, —  one  of  the  most  significant  of  all  Heine's  works, 
—  an  essay  on  the  history  of  religion  and  philosophy  in 
Germany.  It  was  first  written  in  French,  and  was  de- 
signed to  give  French  readers  some  notion  of  that  phi- 
losophy of  which  they  had  heard  so  much,  and  which 
was  so  inaccessible  to  them  in  the  works  of  Kant  and 
Fichte,  Schelling  and  Hegel.  This  purpose  was  answered 
for  sucli  as  required  only  general  and  superficial  acquaint- 
ance with  the  subject ;  the  serious  student  in  pursuit 
of  thorough  knowledge  must  seek  elsewhere.  The  book 
is  superficial,  as  are  all  Heine's  writings  ;  he  was  no 
metaphysician,  no  first-hand  studious  investigator  of  any 
subject.  Like  Voltaire,  he  had  luminous  intuitions  but 
no  depth.  Yet  it  is  beautifully  intelligible,  and  readable 
as  no  other  book  on  German  philosophy  is.  It  abounds 
in  Heine's  peculiar  wit,  and  in  characteristic  merit  ranks, 
in  my  judgment,  next  to  the  "  Reisebilder." 

I  cannot  speak  with  the  same  commendation  of  the  au- 
thor's other  work  on  Germany,  —  his  dissertation  on  the 
Romantic  School,  which  has  been  lauded  by  non-German 


526  HOURS   WITH  GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

readers,  ignorant  of  the  writers  treated,  as  the  most 
valuable  of  all  his  productions.  It  was  designed  in  part 
as  a  kind  of  antiphony  to  Madame  de  Stael's  "  L'Al- 
lemagne,"  as  that  was  designed  to  set  off  Germany 
against  the  France  of  Napoleon's  regime.  It  was  written 
to  suit  French  taste,  and  partly  to  vindicate  French 
classicism.  It  deals  in  a  flippant  manner  with  great 
and  honored  names,  is  often  grossly  unjust,  especially 
to  A.  W.  Schlegel,  to  whom  the  author  was  indebted  for 
much  kindness  while  at  Bonn,  and  whose  merits  he  then 
exalted  with  extravagant  praise.  The  book  is  entertain- 
ing, as  a  treatise  of  Heine  on  such  a  subject  could  hardly 
fail  to  be,  but  insincere.  Let  no  one  rely  on  it  for  any 
trustworthy  knowledge  of  the  German  Romantic  School. 

The  remaining  works  of  Heine,  apart  from  the  grace 
of  his  style,  have  only  a  temporary  and  local  interest, 
with  the  exception  of  the  "  Maids  and  Women  of  Shak- 
speare,"  which  is  certainly  not  one  of  his  best,  and 
which  throws  but  little  critical  light  on  the  works  of 
the  great  dramatist. 

In  the  essay  on  Ludwig  Borne,  a  former  friend  of  the 
author,  —  that  essay  so  universally  condemned,  and  after- 
ward repudiated  by  Heine  himself,  —  the  second  book  is 
an  episode  consisting  of  letters  to  friends,  in  which  there 
is  an  estimate  of  the  Bible  especially  interesting  as 
coming  from  such  a  source  :  — 

"  Yesterday  being  Sunday,  and  leaden  tedium  brooding  over 
the  whole  island  [Heligoland]  and  almost  crushing  in  my  head, 
in  my  despair  I  had  recourse  to  the  Bible.  And  I  confess  to 
you,  that  in  spite  of  my  being  secretly  a  Hellene  I  was  well 
entertained  and  thoroughly  edified.  What  a  book !  great  and 
wide  as  the  world ;  having  its  root  in  the  abysses  of  creation 
and  reaching  up  into  the  blue  mysteries  of  heaven !     Sunrise 


HEINRICH  HEINE.  527 

and  sunset,  promise  and  fulfilment,  birth  and  death,  the  whole 
drama  of  humanity,  —  it  is  all  in  this  book.  It  is  the  book  of 
books.  .  .  .  Longinus  speaks  of  its  sublimity.  Modern  writers 
on  aesthetics  talk  of  naivete.  Ah  !  as  I  have  said,  here  all  stand- 
ards of  measurement  fail.  .  .  .  The  Bible  is  the  word  of  God." 

In  1848  Heine,  already  stricken  with  paralysis,  was 
attacked  with  a  disease  of  the  spine,  which  laid  him 
prostrate ;  and  from  that  time  until  his  death,  in  1856, 
for  eight  long  years,  he  was  confined  to  his  bed,  suffer- 
ing frightful  pains  the  while,  but  retaining  his  mental 
vigor  and  vivacity  to  the  end.  One  day  a  German 
scholar  called  to  see  him,  and  wearied  him  with  his 
learned  dulness.  When  he  had  taken  his  leave,  Theo- 
phile  Gautier  called.  "  You  will  find  me  stupid  to-day," 
Heine  said ;  "  I  have  been  exchanging  ideas  with  Herr 

."      When   near  his  end,  his   physician  asked  : 

"  Pouvez-vous  siffler  ["  siffler  "  means  both  "•  whistle  " 
and  "  hiss  "]  ? "  "  H^las  !  non,"  was  the  reply ;  "  pas 
meme  une  com^die  de  M.  Scribe." 

Lord  Houghton,  who  has  written  more  sensibly  about 
Heine  than  any  Englishman  whom  I  have  read,  embodies 
in  his  monograph  a  very  pathetic  account,  which  at  his 
request  an  anonymous  lady  friend,  whom  the  poet  had 
met  and  petted  as  a  child,  gave  of  her  visit  to  the  invalid 
in  what  he  called  his  '•'  mattress-grave." 

"  He  lay  on  a  pile  of  mattresses,  his  body  wasted  so  that  it 
seemed  no  bigger  than  a  child  under  the  sheet  wiiich  covered 
him.  He  raised  his  powerless  eyelids  with  his  thin  white  fingers 
and  exclaimed :  *  Gott !  die  kleine  Lucie  ist  gross  geworden, 
und  hat  einen  Mann :  das  ist  eigen ! '  On  a  second  visit,  some 
time  after,  he  said :  '  I  have  now  made  my  peace  with  all  the 
world,  and  at  last  also  with  the  dear  God,  who  now  sends  you  to 
me  as  a  beautiful  death  angel.     I  shall  certainly  die  soon.*     On 


528  HOURS    WITH   GERMAN  CLASSICS. 

the  whole,  I  never  saw  a  man  bear  such  terrible  pain  and  misery 
in  so  perfectly  unaffected  a  manner.  He  complained  of  his 
sufferings,  and  was  pleased  to  see  tears  in  my  eyes ;  and  then  he 
at  once  set  to  work  to  make  me  laugh  heartily,  which  pleased 
him  just  as  much.  ...  He  begged  me  not  to  tell  him  when  I 
was  going,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  say  '  Lebewohl  auf  ewig,"  or 
to  hear  it.  He  repeated  that  I  had  come  to  him  as  a  beautiful, 
kind  death-angel,  to  bring  him  greetings  from  youth  and  from 
Germany,  and  to  dispel  the  bad  French  thoughts." 

Thus  Heine  seems  at  last  to  have  abjured  his  French 
predilections,  reverting  with  a  prodigal's  penitent  yearn- 
ing to  the  German  Heimath,  the  home  of  his  early  culture 
and  his  first  affections. 

What  shall  we  say  in  conclusion  of  this  extraordinary 
genius  ?  A  great  poet  ?  The  third  in  rank  of  the  poets 
of  Germany  ?  No  !  To  constitute  a  great  poet  there 
needs  something  more  than  a  writer  of  songs,  be  they 
never  so  charming.  There  needs,  as  the  name  imports, 
the  maker;  and  that  Heine  surely  was  not.  For  his 
tragedies,  "  Ratcliff  "  and  "  Almansor,"  his  warmest  ad- 
mirers have  claimed  no  special  merit ;  as  dramatic  com- 
positions they  are  failures.  His  longer  poems  —  with  the 
exception  of  the  "  Jehuda  Ben  Halevi  "  (which  is  a  frag- 
ment), his  " Deutschland,"  and  "Atta  Troll"  — would 
hardly  be  read  but  for  the  fame  achieved  by  his  songs. 
Not  a  great  poet,  but  a  marvellous  songster,  and  beyond 
comparison  Germany's  wittiest  writer,  —  the  foremost 
satirist  of  his  time. 


INDEX. 


"  Abderites,     The  "     (Wieland's), 

quoted,  222-227. 
"  Aufkliirung,    Die,"    an     important 

epoch  of  history  in  Germany  and 

elsewhere,  191-194. 

Baumgarten,      Sigismund     Jakob, 

quoted,  74. 
Baur,  Ferdinand  Christian,  quoted,  74. 
Bodmer,  John  Jacob,  109. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  quoted,  5. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  quoted,  126-128,  353. 

"Don  Carlos"  (Schiller's),  quoted, 
357-359. 

"  Easter  Song,  The,"  translation  of, 

342,  343. 
"Emilia  Galotti  "  (Lessing's),  quoted, 

159-165. 

"  Faust  "    (Goethe's),    analysis    of, 

with  extracts,  296-322. 
"Fisher, The  "  (Goethe's),  quoted,  277. 

"Ganymede"  (Goethe's), quoted,275. 

Gellert,  Christian  Fiirchtegott,  brief 
sketch  of  his  life  and  work,  113-120. 

Gerhard,  Paul,  102. 

German  Literature,  its  modern  growth, 
1-3 ;  its  distinguishing  qualities  and 
principal  defects,  3-10  ;  its  classifi- 
cations and  subdivisions,  10  ;  its 
oldest  monuments,  11-24 ;  mediaeval 
poems,  59,  60;  Martin  Luther  as  a 
feature  in  its  development,  65-82; 
its  progress  during  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  100-120; 
Lessing's  influence  upon,  144;  the 


"  Universal  German  Library  "  as 
an  important  element  in,  190-194; 
Herder's  influence  upon,  228,229; 
the  Romantic  School  as  a  feature  in 
its  development,  429-473. 

Gervinus,  quoted,  74,  211. 

Gessner,  Salomon,  110. 

Goethe,  Wolfgang  Johann,  113,  125, 
234;  his  rank  as  a  poet  of  modern 
times,  254-257,  274,  276 ;  his  parent- 
age and  early  associations,  257,  258 ; 
his  mental  characteristics  as  a  young 
man,  259-261  ;  events  of  interest 
during  and  immediately  after  his 
student  life,  261-263;  becomes  at- 
tached to  the  service  of  Karl  August 
at  Weimar,  263-266  ;  his  visit  to 
Italy  and  its  marked  effect  upon 
him,  266-268  ;  the  charm  of  his  per- 
sonal presence,  208,  269  ;  his  mental 
and  physical  industry,  269,  270  ; 
consideration  of  his  pei'sonal  charac- 
ter and  peculiarities,  270-273 ;  ex- 
amination of,  with  extracts  from, 
some  of  his  poems,  275-288;  as  a 
dramatist,  288,  289  ;  "  Wilhelm 
Meister"  examined,  as  an  evidence 
of  his  prose-writing  abilities,  200- 
294 ;  his  skill  in  delineating  female 
characters,  294,  295;  the  origin  of 
"Faust"  and  history  of  its  compo- 
sition, 296-300  ;  consideration  of 
the  play  in  detail,  with  extracts, 
300-322;  analysis  of  "The  Tale," 
showing  its  allegorical  character, 
322-340;  compared  with  Schiller, 
344-346,  373. 

Gottsched,  Christopher,  111-113. 

Grimm,  Jacob,  quoted,  12,  74. 
"  Gudrun,"  brief  sketch  of,  56-59. 


34 


530 


INDEX. 


Hamann,  John  George,  his  influence 
upon  Herder,  233-235. 

Hardenberg,  Friedrich  von  (Novalis), 
a  rare  genius  of  the  Romantic 
School,  447-449 ;  brief  sketch  of  his 
life  as  a  man  and  an  author,  449- 
454;  extracts,  455-463. 

"Harz-Journe}'  iuWinter"  (Goethe's), 
quoted,  279-281. 

Hegel,  Georg  Wilhelm  Friedrich, 
quoted,  150. 

Heine,  Heinrich,  quoted,  186 ;  as  a  sat- 
irist and  wit,  502,  503 ;  brief  sketch 
of  his  early  life,  504-511 ;  his  prin- 
cipal prose  works  with  extracts, 
512-518 ;  as  a  lyric  poet,  with  trans- 
lations, 518-522;  his  later  life  and 
writings,  522-528. 

Herder,  Johann  Gottfried,  his  influ- 
ence on  German  literature,  228,  229 ; 
brief  sketch  of  his  life  and  work, 
with  extracts  from  his  letters  and 
writings,  228-253. 

Herzog,  102. 

Hettner,  Hermann  Julius  Theodor, 
quoted,  196,  204-206. 

"  Hildebrand  and  Hadubrand,"  20-22. 

Hoffmann,  Ernst  Theodor  Wilhelm, 
a  writer  of  the  preternatural  and 
imaginative,  474,  475;  brief  sketch 
of  his  life  and  work,  476-490 ;  story 
of  the  "  Fantasiestiicke,"  with  ex- 
tracts, 491-501. 

"Iliad,"   The,    compared  with  the 

"Nibelungenlied,"  48-55. 
"Iphigenia"  (Goethe's)  quoted,  286- 

288. 

Kant,  Emanuel,  quoted,  185. 

Klopstock,  Friedrich  Gottlieb,  brief 
sketch  of  his  life  and  works,  with 
extracts  from  translations,  121-142 , 
comparison  with  Milton,  139,  140. 

Lessing,  Gotthold  Ephraim,  his  life 
and  works,  144-170;  his  influence  in 
the  development  of  German  litera- 
ture, 144 ;  classification  of  his  writ- 
ings,with  extracts  from  translations, 
153-157;  his  dramatic  works,  with 


extracts,   159-169;    his  incomplete 

plan  of  "Faust,"  340-342. 
Lettsom,  his  translation  of  the  "Ni- 

belungenlied  "  quoted,  33-47. 
Luther,  Martin,  as  reformer  and  writer, 

65-82. 

"Mahomet's  Song"  (Goethe's)  quot- 
ed, 282,  283. 

"  Maid  of  Orleans,  The  "  (Schiller's), 
373-379. 

Master-singers,  The,  a  popular  institu- 
tion of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
centuries,  85-87. 

Mendelssohn,  Moses,  quoted,  152;  brief 
sketch  of  his  life  and  literary  work, 
171-186 ;  extracts  from  translations, 
186-189. 

"  Mountain  Echo,  The  "  (Heine's), 
quoted,  520. 

"  Nathan  the  Wise  "  (Lessing's) 
quoted,  165-169. 

Nibelungenlied,"  The,  consideration 
of  its  origin,  with  brief  sketch  of 
the  story,  25-47  ;  compared  with 
the  "Iliad,"  48-55. 

Nicolai,  Christoph  Friedrich,  a  cham- 
pion of  "  Die  Aufklarung,"  — 
brief  sketch  of  his  life  and  works, 
with  extracts,  194r-204. 

"Oberon"  (Wieland's)  quoted,  218- 

222. 
Opitz    von  Boberfeld,    Martin,   104- 

107. 

"  Parzival,"  consideration  of,  with 
brief  sketch  of  the  story,  60-64. 

Paul,  Jean.     See  Richier. 

"  Philosophen,  Die  "  (Schiller's)  quot- 
ed, 368-370. 

"  Pilgrimage  to  Kevlar,  The  " 
(Heine's),    quoted,    520-522. 

Richter,  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  (Jean 
Paul),  249;  sketch  of  his  early 
life  and  character,  396-408  ;  his 
first  literary  success,  408-412;  his 
married  life  and  later  year*,  412- 
437;  as  a  man  and  writer,  418-420; 


INDEX. 


531 


consideration  of  his  writings,  with 
extracts,  420-428. 

"Kitter  Toggenburg,  The,"  transla- 
tion, 390-392. 

"  Robbers,  The  "  (Schiller's),  extracts 
from,  349-353. 

Rodigast,  102. 

Roseuroth,  102. 

Sachs,  Hans,  brief  sketch  of  his  life 
and  works,  83-96. 

Scheffler,  Johann  (Angelas  Silesius), 
102,  103. 

Schiller,  John  Christoph  Friedrich 
von,  266;  compared  with  Goethe, 
344-346,  373;  his  early  youth  and 
literary  labors,  346-349;  publishes 
"  The  Robbers,"  extracts  from  the 
play,  349-353;  literarj'  injunction 
imposed  upon  him  and  his  conse- 
quent self-exile,  354;  his  later  plays, 
with  extracts  from  "Don  Carlos," 
355-359  ;  his  growing  popularity 
and  success,  360,  361 ;  professor  of 
history  at  Jena,  362,  363;  receives 
assistance  from  Denmark,  363-366; 
his  interest  in  philosophy,  367,  368 ; 
"Die  Philosophen "  quoted,  368- 
370 ;  his  friendship  with  Goethe, 
370-373;  "The  Maid  of  Orleans" 
considered,  373-379  ;  analyses  of 
"  Wallenstein  "  and  "The  Picco- 
lomini,"  with  extracts,  379-387  ; 
later  dramas,  387-389;  as  a  lyric 
poet,  with  translation  of  "The  Rit- 
ter  Toggenburg,"  389-392;  his  last 
years,  392-395. 

Schlegel.  August  Wilhelm,  his  influ- 
ence in  the  development  of  modem 


German  literature,  429-431  ;  as 
critic  and  writer,  with  extracts, 
432-437. 

Schlegel,  Friedrich,  75;  his  influence 
in  the  development  of  modern  Ger- 
man literature,  429-431;  brief  sketch 
of  his  life  as  poet  and  critic,  with 
extracts,  437-446. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  quoted,  270. 

Siegfried,  28-32. 

Stahr,  Adolf  Wilhelm  Theodor,  quot- 
ed, 169. 

Strauss,  David  Friedrich,  quoted,  75. 

"Tale,  The"  (Goethe's),  its  allegori- 
cal character  explained,  322-340. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  his  translation  of 
"Gudrun,"  quoted,  58,  59. 

Tennyson,  Lord  Alfred,  quoted,  61. 

Tieck,  Ludwig,  his  life  and  works, 
with  extracts,  463-473. 

Ulfilas,  or  Wulfilas,  12-20. 

"  Van  der  Kabel's  Will  "  (Rich- 

ter's),  423-428. 
Von  Eschenbach,  Wolfram,  60. 
Von  Haller,  Albrecht,  107-109. 
Von  Hutton,  Ulrich,  97-99. 

"Wallenstein"  and  "The  Picco- 
lomini,"  379-387. 

Wieland,  Christoph  Martin,  brief 
sketch  of  his  life  and  works  under 
the  two  phases  of  his  intellectual 
development,  207  -  218  ;  extracts 
from  translations  of  his  "  Oberon  " 
and  "  The  Abderites,"  218-227. 


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